


Bulletporn

by regsregis



Series: Breaking your habits [5]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Feltching, M/M, creative ways to spice things up in the bedroom lmao, from now on it's going to be fluff and fluff only no more adventuring no more h/c no more angst idgf, i mean the adventuring thing may still be a go what with me being me and a sucker for extensive plot, if ur iffy about light gore stuff beware!, not actualy doing the diddly do with real bullets just so you know, the infamous MEANBEAN AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: This is going to be made of mini stories that loosely tie to the main plot line so I can explore Jack's and Rhys' uneasy partnership more. Sue me.Also. Porn.





	1. Same rules apply p.1

**Author's Note:**

> gosh dang Rhys has no shame

-Rhys-

Getting back his CEO rights was basically a matter of a few signatures and biological scans for the systems to let him in. Easy peasy. Getting back the ‘executive’ element of his title, not so much. Jack fights him tooth and nail, in that subverted, nearly guerilla fashion, making everything harder than it needs to be. It doesn’t take long for Rhys to catch a wind of all the shady deals Jack has been trying to slip under his nose but, as a form of making amends and trying to get the other man to co-operate, he cancels only about half of them. So far they have begrudgingly settled on sharing one building, Rhys ending up kicked out of his old office, pissed off and getting his due payback by clearing out the floor previously designated to a newly formed elemental weapons departament, white collars scattering left and right when instead of their direct supervisor, Handsome Jack it’s Rhys, casually strolling inside to claim the space for himself. He takes great pleasure in watching Jack angrily run back and forth between his new office and his little pet project, now moved to another facility a couple blocks down the road. 

Rhys sighs, setting down a small potted plant, the blue flowers faintly glowing, a gift from Sasha and the only thing he has managed not to let wither in his care. Stepping back, he takes a look at his new office, it’s gaudy and over the top and just how he likes it, expensive marble and off-world wood coupled with state of the art tech. It also now is better and flashier than his old office and that makes a nasty chuckle sound in the quietness, metallic fingers skimming over a placard, tracing gold letters etched into a tasteful alloy of titanium and brushed aluminium spelling ‘Chief CEO, Atlas’. All that’s left is to pin it to the door and his new workspace is ready.

Two days later he nearly goes down with a heart attack, the placard above the scanner guarding entrance to Jack’s new office says ‘The Chiefest Chief CEO, Atlas’. He says nothing but on his way back to his floor, Rhys tears down his plate. It takes some help from nearly hysterical Vaughn to come up with a suitable response and soon enough there are two new placard delivered to his doorstep. One, which reads ‘Handsome Jack’s babysitter, Atlas’ goes to his front door, Sasha tasked with a stealth mission to swap out the one in front of Jack’s office to the new one. ‘I slept with the boss and all I got was this stupid office, Atlas”. All the while, both of them manage to act in a civilised way around each other, pretending as if a war wasn’t being waged here, the ever more ridiculous inscriptions causing their respective secretaries mild cases of anxiety. 

The final straw turns out to be the ‘That fucker in charge of you fucking fucks, Atlas’ proudly pinned to Rhys’ door and it has Jack stalking into his office with a menacing expression on his face.

“Okay. I have to give it to you. You won.” Rhys knows because nothing can top his genius and the next day Jack’s placard states only his name and position. It takes him additional couple of days to find out that his Echopedia entry has been hacked and now only includes his status as a ‘pumpkin’ and the size of his dick. 

Eventually they work out a more or less acceptable arrangement, sharing their duties but still fighting over every inch of control. What however brings them closer in terms of work relations is their mutual desire to get back at DAHL for trying to screw Atlas over. Despite the rival company denying any involvement in the ‘rogue employee’s’ actions, or however they are calling it these days, they are reluctant to strike any deals with Atlas. Which makes the two vengeful men all the more dead set on bringing the competition down, and that, in turn brings us to the here and now and the quickly approaching business meeting held down on Pandora at one of more impressive Atlas facilities. 

Jack shows up in his office dressed up nicely, for once, not for the lack of Rhys’ insisting and forcing him to wear something less casual.

“You clean up nicely Jack.” He flashes a smirk, watching the other man tug at the popped collar of his dress shirt with a gruff expression. A leather tailcoat mirrors the flaps of his own vest, hexagonal pattern on the underside another shared trait, and a soft scarf wrapped around his neck complements the shirt and the Atlas’ logo weaved into the leather. For once the man is wearing something else than his god awful sneakers, freshly pressed dress trousers clinging to the curve of his thighs and calves, tucked into the upper of the ankle high boots.

“I dress to impress babycakes, although orange has never been my colour.”

“Suits you anyway.” Jack slowly closes the distance, the click and clack of his metal rimmed shoes the only sound in the room and soon he positions himself behind Rhys’ chair, big flashy and obnoxious, rivalling the old swivel chair in Jack’s office on Helios. There is a telltale pop of the released latch, the seat now allowed more maneuverability and the weight pressing over its back has it, Rhys included, tilting back. As close to a trust fall as he could let himself take with Jack, regardless, he sighs, staring up as the other man’s face pops into his vision. “I like seeing you dressed up in -my- colours.” Risky, as is the leer he’s giving the other man, but Rhys is willing to chance not getting toppled over, even when the chair gives a meek squeak as the pressure against the back of it is gradually exerted. Mechanical fingers move to pull at the silky scarf wrapped around Jack’s neck, dragging him lower over the back of the chair close enough for their breaths to mingle.

“Possessive, aren’t you pumpkin?” Rhys only quirks his lips, the movement unseen but definitely felt when they close the last few inches, soft skin against chapped lips. It’s quite the precarious position he has put himself in, one wrong move and the wheels will roll forward, weight tipped back and for now the only thing between him and the fall is the body countering the angle and two strong hands over the armrests keeping the balance intact.

“I’ve learned from the best.” That gets him a chuckle and it seems like Jack wants to exploit what little power over the other he’s holding right now as he pulls back a little bit and shoots a devilish smirk.

“So, have you given my idea a thought?” He means the data drive, now moved to one of the drawers of his desk. 

“Mhm. I have a few ideas for a couple of tweaks, run them through the source code and we can talk about it later.” Rhys knows he’s stalling passing the final verdict but the other man has been harassing him about the idea for a week now and he has a feeling it won’t be easy to talk his way out of it this time. As the chair sways forward, front wheels hitting the floor, a small breath of relief escapes his lips, glad that in the end he wasn’t dropped to the floor and maybe this little detail contributes to him slowly beginning to lean towards the crazy plan Jack has spun. “Ready to go? I think DAHL’s reps have waited enough for us.” He grabs the unfortunate drive, and passing it to its rightful owner bounces to his feet, already on the move, not waiting to see if he’s being followed.

“Ready for the good cop / bad cop gig?”

“Do I get to be the bad cop?”

“No.” 

Typical.

-II-

The negotiations are over the moment Jack bolts to deck the representative’s PA, his fist coming away bloodied. What started the violence was an offhanded comment about his young looks and a couple snarky quips questioning his competence that has followed. Rhys can’t really blame him, keeping a stoic face and going with the flow of the conversation, now turned into thinly-veiled threats. The man he’s talking to twitches nervously as bullet gets put through the unfortunate soul’s ankle, bone shattering and loud sobs interrupting his detailed explanations of Atlas’ take-no-bullshit policy. 

“Hey! Eyes on me.” His voice is demanding, DAHL snapping his horrified gaze back to him, torn between trying to stay professional and responding to the distressed cries for help. 

“Uhm, yes… sir. As I was saying, we can’t agree to just… withdraw from this section of the market.” A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face and Rhys leans forward, deceptively calm as he taps his fingers, flesh and metal, a reminder of what he has lost, against the sugar bowl.

“I see. More?” This is the third cube of sugar he has offered and then dropped into the man’s espresso without waiting for a go ahead. The sludge is now more white death than coffee and he raises his own cup, motioning for the rep to do the same, watching over the rim as the guy winces and downs it in one go. “Still, we -insist- that you somehow make up for your incompetence.” The stressed word is accompanied by a shriek as Jack curiously pokes the barrel of his gun into the open wound. “The papers your man tried to make me sign up bore your seal. That’s all I need to know to attribute the blame where it’s due. I’d strongly suggest you try to keep our relations civil and Atlas placated since we are looking to expand on the market.” Jack chooses this moment to heavily plop down onto his victim’s back, facing towards the PA’s legs, breath forced out of the lungs and there is a sound of a material tearing which has the man sat by a low coffee table tossing nervous glances over his shoulder, still mindful of the barked order to stay focused on Rhys. Who in return keeps idly watching as a gleaming blade gets dragged down the back of an exposed calf until it reaches the jutting tendon, leg feverishly thrashing about and trying to escape, Jack’s hand pinning it down. “Man…” he shoots a mock sympathetic smile at the jittery rep. “I am afraid your friend will not -walk- out of this.” Jack’s appreciative laughter is drowned out by a howl as the knife quickly slashes the Achilles tendon, rendering his prey unable to move. From then, it’s a walk in the park, the bloodied mess of a PA dragged to the coffee table, body knocking down the multi level tray with pastries and the blade is passed to the ‘fucker in charge of your fucking fucks’ as the placard still says, so he can drive it through the man’s ring finger. Rhys is considerably less skilled at the whole ‘dismembering’ thing but he’s got time and patience to slowly work away at the flesh and bone until the severed finger rolls across the table. 

They wrap up the negotiations fairly quickly after that, all the documents they needed signed with a shaky handwriting and Rhys pops the only piece of cake that didn’t end up tumbling to the ground into his mouth, watching Jack wipe his hands on the expensive scarf still loosely draped over his neck. 

“That went well.” Even better than expected, both of them heading for their respective offices, Rhys immaculately clean, as always, and Jack nonchalantly popping a few buttons of his shirt open.

“Yeah. See you at home?” A simple nod answers his question and they part their ways.

-II-

For all the fighting at work they do, the domestic part of their… arrangement is fairly calm and peaceful. Or as calm and peaceful as either of them can do but at the very least they aren’t constantly at each other’s throat. It’s just what it is, sharing living space, sharing bed and sharing a cup of coffee in the morning, lazy and with their hair a mess. What Rhys didn’t sign up for but has resigned himself to anyway is the shared wardrobe, at least there are no longer -his- clothes, the line completely blurred, Jack on the other hand guards his set of Atlas’ issued apparel as if it was his most prized possession. Not that anyone would want to touch the atrocious collection of his torn sweaters and hoodies anyway. 

Rhys is halfway through his late night snack when the other man finally returns, clothes still stained and stinking of dried out blood and he brushes past him without a word, headed straight for the bathroom. Later, fresh and clean and dressed in nothing but boxers and a shirt, he drops the ill-fated data stick next to an empty bowl.

“Ready to jack in?” The pun goes unnoticed and Rhys only scowls.

“No. Can you remind me why would I even consider agreeing to this?”

“Never ending fun?” Jack is sporting his best smile, corners of his lips pulled so far that his canines peek over the bottom lip.

“I don’t recall sharing my head with -you- being any fun. More like never ending suffering.”

“Oh come on pumpkin. This time it’s going to be different. This is not a copy, it’s me. Think of all the new opportunities!”

“Somehow I don’t see any benefit in having you constantly yammering, at least I can always just walk out on you with how things are now.” Or punch him in the face. Or shut his mouth in other ways, the possibilities are endless but as far as Rhys remembers, the ephemeral specter perched over his shoulder was impossible to shut down.

“Think of all the dirty talk I could whisper into your ear during those long ass board meetings.” Jack stalks closer, picking up the stick again and waggling it enticingly, eventually coming to a stop just a couple of inches away from reclining Rhys, towering over him with a smirk.

“See, that’s the main reason I don’t want to do this.” That prompts the other man to drop some of that flirtatious tone, settling himself down on top of the sitting man and scooting closer till he’s snugly sat on his lap.

“You tend to run into too many troubles, can’t blame me for trying to keep tabs on you. Don’t you miss having me at your side?” His voice dips into lower tones, softer, inviting and honest. A hand comes up to brush through Rhys’ hair, tucking a stray strand behind his ear and Jack leans closer, letting his forehead rest against his. “I want to know you are safe and help even when I can’t physically be there.”

“It’s the control freak thing, isn’t it?” He doesn’t let sweet words sway him that easily, even when there are fingers pressing to his temple, pretending to give a light massage but in reality pawing greedily at the port there.

“It’s the control freak thing, yeah.” Jack chuckles but it’s less on the menacing side and more on a genuine one. “But other things too. Come on, Rhysie, I’ve implemented all the changes you wanted. It will work on proximity, as long as we are more or less in the same area, I’ve got unlimited access but past that point, you’ll have to manually call me out, how does that sound?”

“Still creepy as fuck.” He will probably never understand Jack’s weird obsession with the port at his temple, the skin scarred over for the third time having lost whatever little sensitivity it had, the other man most probably projecting his own fancies, unable to grasp that what made -him- feel good didn’t necessarily transfer to other people. “Won’t that be distracting? How will you even work that out? Can you even operate two ‘bodies’ at the same time?” ‘Bodies’ getting quotation air marks because Rhys sure as hell isn’t going to let this asshole take control of his, mostly referring to the holo projection.

“Oh babycakes, silly thing, maybe your limited squishy, human brain has troubles multitasking but think of me as of a very advanced hardware, ever seen your computer struggling to run two programs simultaneously? See? The same way you manage to piece together the feedback from your left and right eye, I will have no problems coordinating two separate data streams.” That makes something in his ‘squishy, human’ brain click. 

“God, Jack…” Rhys runs his hand over his face, huffing and ignoring the cheerful remark that those terms aren’t mutually exclusive. “...why do you have to be so extra? Most people will just have sex in front of the mirror to sate their egocentric cravings.” Now that he has managed to piece everything together, or so he thinks he has, Jack’s angle turns out to be a little bit less threatening than he originally thought.

“I’m special this way.” Rhys lets his head drop against the back of his armchair, taking a long, deliberate breath through his nose and watching the other man nearly bounce in excitement. “So, is that a yes?”

“Well…” His lips curl into a lopsided smirk “...only if you can make me.” and he shoves the other man from his lap, down on the floor. There is no denying that despite his cool and collected demeanor during the negotiations earlier that day, the fire he saw in Jack’s eyes as he kept slowly crushing their competition fanned the heat in the pit of his stomach. And what better a way to release some pent up feelings than with a tousle. A tousle which promptly breaks out, Rhys dragged by his leg down onto the floor. He laughs, ducking out of the way of a half-assed punch and lets them roll over, buckling when the weight settles on top of him and taking pleasure in straining against the grip pinning him down. It’s the slow burn in his muscles and the shift of power that do it for him, arms coming up to shove away the hand aiming for his throat, but it’s also the way Jack stares down the length of his nose at him, cheeky and appreciative, tongue darting to run over his lips. It takes a few more swaps of who’s on top of whom, fingers scratching over bare skin, for them to settle in a deadlock, mechanical arm against quickly raising and falling chest, keeping the other man at bay, the other hand wrapped around Jack’s wrist as it flexes in his grip, trying to get the drive to slot with the port at his temple. He’s again sprawled on his back, snarling to cover the grin threatening to turn that frown upside down as he can feel the light, playful grind of the other’s hips, a whispered ‘just the tip baby’ finally breaking his composure. 

“Okay. Bottoms up I guess.” The laugh passing through his lips is rather on the anxious side but he releases his grip regardless, letting Jack savour the moment of triumph. From the corner of his eye, he can catch a spark of electricity jumping between the drive and his temple, a weak string of bouncy data, eager to get out of its current confines, latched onto his port and the other man toys with it, pulling his hand back to watch how far it can stretch. Rhys thinks he hates the feeling, invasive code washing over him as the connection is finally made, metal jammed into his head and two intent eyes staring at him. It makes his body jerk, consciousness fading away and the last coherent thought he has is that of Jack carrying his limp body bridal style back to bed.

-II-

Rhys is heavy, all floppy limbs and cumbersome weight and Jack has to wonder what went through that moron’s head as he flashed him one last wacky smile. He drags the dead weight of a passed out nerd to the couch settling down next to it, eyes slowly closing as the feedback loop begins gradually building up and soon enough he doesn’t need to open them anymore to see, watching the two figures slumped on the couch, one completely out cold and the other, the more dashing and handsome one smirking impishly.


	2. Turn the page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aha! you thought it was the spanish inquisition but it was I! Dioo. I mean, uh, yeah taking a little break from other stuff to come back to these two jerks out of nowhere. Which is good bc while i have other chapters sketched out, this one was a mystery until I put down the last character and re-read everything.  
> Anyway, it is super sugary and you'll probably get some serious cavity but writing the double Jack was as much fun as I expected so hopefully it will be just as much fun to read :^)

-Jack-

The first opportunity to test the theoretical knowledge presents itself the next morning, catching Jack with a toothbrush in his hand and a mouth full of foam. The parallel feedback alerts him of a muffled groan and the visuals quickly begin streaming in as he watches the man on the couch shift and turn around, clearly cranky from the night spent curled in one position.

_“Heya pumpkin.”_

Flickering into existence, he lets his lips curl into a glorious and definitely self-satisfied smirk, the perfect cheshire cat, a little less corporeal and a little bit more sheer purple, but that’s exactly what he wanted. His words, meant only for one pair of ears spark some more grumbling and he’s soon presented with hunched shoulders, Rhys deciding that facing the back of the couch would somehow shield him from the other man. No such luck and the hologram clips through the piece of furniture, coming face to face with a scrunched nose and furrowed eyebrows.

 _“Come on baby, no hiding that pretty face of yours.”_ All he gets is a ‘fuck off’ and a pillow pressed over said pretty face. _“Nu-uh, talk to me. Don’t make my handsome meatbag walk all the way here and wrangle that pillow from you.”_

The handsome meatbag in question however is currently quite busy and he’d rather not have to walk into the living room as he’s occupied putting to test his latest idea. And more often than not, Jack’s ideas encompassed taking care of his dick. Something that he is fairly dedicated to right now, slumped on the bathroom floor and furiously thumbing at the reddened tip, sticky fluid clinging to his fingers and slightly easing the glide of his fist.

“And just -where- are you?”

 _“Here.”_ Well, that’s about as true as it isn’t, Jack present in two separate rooms at the same time, experimentally adding second hand to slide lower, cupping soft flesh and giving a light tug. _“What’s up with that frown, aren’t you happy to see me?”_ There is not a single hitch to the voice seeping into Rhys’ echo-receiver even though there is a hitch of breath bouncing off of the bathroom tiles.

“Aren’t I always.” The pillow gets dragged lower and mismatched eyes take stock of the hologram hovering just above him, a slight glow to one yellow eye and another huff. “I can see you’ve updated your design. You’ve poured a lot of work into this, didn’t you?” Jack chose to replicate his more formal wear, the long tailed coat, the scarf and the vest, simply because it sparked the most enthusiastic reaction from the other man. And, after all, he dolled himself up solely for this reason so why not go all the way. 

_“Oh baby, you have -no- idea.”_ It’s proving to be harder than he anticipated, to withhold some information, for now at least, but Jack wouldn’t like to spoil the surprise he has planned for later. As Rhys finally spares him a more favourable glance, light smile tugging his lips into an upturned curl, Jack curls his fingers tighter, breath coming in shorter bursts.

“I can’t tell if I have missed this or not. Both probably.” There is a wistful sigh, the line of thoughts taking the other man years back and that’s not what Jack wants to happen, flipping himself over in the air, lounging at a sharp downward angle and staring upside down. “Added physics?” At least he has managed to drag Rhys back into reality, one hand coming up to rake through the flopped down hair, now pulled by the artificial gravity and dangling loosely, just as the flaps of his coat and the untucked end of his scarf did. It’s a pleasant double view that he’s getting, half of his attention focused on his own hand working at the hard flesh, the other centered on the man lazily stretched on the couch, his shirt riding that little higher with all the squirming he has done previously, soft skin he has mapped with his fingers over and over again now exposed. A small part of him wonders if he could even designate another line of code to work at the same time, but then again, he’s not -that- dedicated unless circumstances force him.

 _“Yeah, thought it would be a nice touch.”_ A nice touch is definitely what he’s giving himself right now anyway, a flick of his wrist, sweater hiked up and tucked under his chin and fingers skirting up higher to press into a bruise formed above his hip from the last night’s tussle. _”Hey pumpkin. Smile for me pretty please with cherry on top?”_

“Why?” Rhys cocks his head, teasing his fingers through the sleep-ruffled hair. Regardless of his suspicions, a gentle smile follows a yawn, two artificial teeth catching Jack’s attention, a little lighter and whiter than the original set. “Jack? What are you up to?” It’s not what he’s up to but rather what he’s down for and he sure as hell is down for happily jerking off to that soft smile.

 _”Nothing special. Listen, give me another five minutes to make myself decent and then I expect a coffee and a sandwich. Capiche?”_ As one line of code trembles and keels over when he finds his release, the other is unwavering, thinking processes completely uninterrupted. So, turns out he wasn’t mistaken, and that opens up so many opportunities. Majority of them including bending his meatbuddy over the nearest counter and giving both of them some nice double feedback.

His words however, get him a squint of two still slightly sleepy eyes, that brilliant smile dimmed and turning into a tight line. “You did -not-.” Rhys looks positively scandalized, whether at being treated like a fetch boy or figuring out that he’s being quite literally treated as a human version of a porn magazine.

_”Totally did. Now, get going.”_

Enough nagging later, he’s sat in the kitchen, shamelessly ogling the curve of the other man’s ass and sipping his coffee with a pleased smirk.

 _”So, what’s on the agenda today?”_ Rhys seems to be torn between shooting a scowl towards Jack or shooting it towards the hologram, arms coming to cross over his chest and he must be serious, little to nothing usually able to tear him from decimating his morning bowl of cereal.

“Don’t tell me now you’re above using your goddamn mouth like a normal human being.”

“Trust me, you don’t want me to answer that, pumpkin.” He’ll let this one slide, simply for the pleasure of watching the other man groan some more. Sometimes it’s better to leave things unspoken.

-II-

His habit of watching Rhys sleep easily transfers over, now that he -doesn’t- need to sleep, the soft glow of the cybernetics joined by the one his holographic version gives off, making the other man usually fall asleep with his face towards the wall and shoulders all fluffed up. That’s fine, mostly because it means no more fights over the bed space, at least initially as the sleep takes over, although, once it does, their shared penchant for starfishing in their slumber has them idly kicking or elbowing each other in the dead of the night anyway. He has already forwarded an order for a larger bed, much to Rhys’ angry huffing that he ‘liked his bed the way it was, especially so, now that he had it back’ but Jack isn’t willing to give up on his beauty sleep just because some dumb kid thought he could rival -his- ego and bed-hoarding tendencies.

Ever since he has nestled himself back into Rhys’ brain, some long forgotten guilt seems to have reared it’s ugly head, bringing occasional nightmares and he’s currently watching the other man furrow his brows, sweat clinging to his forehead and a small whine build between distressed huffs.

 _”Hey, hey hey, pumpkin. Wake up. Come on.”_ Jack can be as loud as he wishes to, without waking himself up, the slow rise and fall of his own chest undisturbed by the illusion of a sound sent straight to Rhys’ brain. Regardless of that, he keeps his voice fairly quiet, a couple of more murmurs finally making the other man stirr, eyes eventually cracking open and staring blearily at him. 

There comes a hum, inquisitive in its nature and prompting him to keep talking, promptly followed by a shake of a head.

_“What’cha been dreaming about? Nothing pleasant I take it.”_

“Seeing you like that… it brings back memories, you know?” Rhys looks dejected, hauling himself a little bit higher on the bed, back propped against the headboard and hand coming to muss his hair. “I keep replaying that day over and over again. How quiet it was after you were gone.” 

_“It was quiet where I was too.”_ It wasn’t just quiet, quiet means a lull between noises but what he recalls is a total and complete absence of sound. Hovering about a foot above the bed and sprawled on his front, Jack watches as the other man gingerly tucks his arms under his sleeping body before dragging it closer, now half splayed over his chest and wrapped in a tight grip. _“Careful, don’t wake me up, don’t make it awkward Rhysie.”_ As if it wasn’t awkward all right.

“Thought I was over it.” With some semblance of regret, Jack notices how the feedback only goes one way, from the hologram to the body but not the other way round, making him a little bit longful for the feeling of the face idly nuzzling into the crown of his head. Some of his thoughts however must have traveled back, prompting a twitch of his sleeping form and a loose embrace offered in return, perhaps an instinctive reaction to being held.

 _”I’m not someone you just -get over-. And it isn’t something to easily get over either.”_ A simple shrug of his shoulders given, as noncommittal as it gets. _”I ain’t as mad as I was at first. Got plenty of other reasons to be mad at you these days anyway. About as many as I have to be mad about you.”_

“That’s quite a confession from you, Jack.” 

_“Wouldn’t have said that if I didn’t think it was something mutual, pumpkin.”_ There are no surprises here, the shape of his words giving definition to something that has already existed for quite some time and all in all, Jack is fairly proud that it was him to man up and say it out loud first. Even if saying things out loud carried different implication when it was just the two of them to hear it, no traces of a tangible sound in the air. Or maybe it made things all the more meaningful and intimate. 

A slow nod is all he gets and he watches the familiar shape of soft lips disappearing into his hair, a kiss undoubtedly pressed there and leaving him with some inclination to wake himself up if only for a lazy make out session. 

_”It’s always easy to tell when they fall head over heals for me with you fanboys.”_ There is only so long Jack can tolerate such a vulnerable atmosphere, a couple of words enough to make Rhys snap out of his musing and go back to frowning.

“Could you be more self-absorbed. I had a fair dose of admiration and hero-worship for you, nothing more.” He has implied on multiple occasions that Rhys’ attraction has always had sexual undertow so the stern and undeniably honest tone feels like a blow to his ego. “Didn’t fall for you until I realized how much of a human mess you are.” He’d be hyperventilating if he could, his annoyance realizing in a few glitches blurring the edges of the hologram.

 _“You brat…”_ His fingers pass through the front of Rhys’ shirt, the smarmy smirk he’s getting in return making enough pure, unadulterated outrage flow back that his sleeping body produces a displeased grumble, still out like a light but edging towards consciousness.

“What about you Jack? When did you realize you have fallen head over heels for one of your fanboys?” Faces only inches apart, he squints his eyes and lets a snarl creep over his lips at having his own words chucked back at him.

 _”Five minutes ago. Got over it about a minute ago.”_ That will teach him. But it only prompts one cocked eyebrow to give a small twitch and the arms about his body tightening their squeeze.

“Give me one good reason not to kick you out of my bed this instant.”

Going full -intangible but still yowling- mode could be one of the reasons and he’s seriously considering this course of action but then again, he’d rather wake up to a well rested meatbag and get his revenge then.

 _”How about this kiddo. You let me sleep. And I seriously mean it, wake me up accidentally, i’ll make you regret it, and in return I’ll let you in on what other upgrades I have installed.”_ A smirk curls his lips, still on the nasty side but also inching into lecherous. 

“I’m not sure I want to know.” 

_“Come on pumpkin… let's play a game…”_ He moves closer, close enough that his lips can move to Rhys’ ears and while physical proximity doesn’t affect the volume of his voice, he makes sure to lower it manually. It’s time to share a little secret and an effect of a labour of love, his finger tugging at the collar of his shirt, each layer of his clothes coded separately. _“You just need to stay quiet…”_

Curious eyes follow his movement as he floats back towards the end of the bed, shirt now loosened from his pants and the last couple of buttons undone as he waggles his eyebrows.

“Will you get anything out of it? Can you even get off like that?” To his credit, Rhys doesn’t even seem surprised with how things seem to be playing out, tongue darting to sweep over his lower lip.

_“Beside the visuals? Nah. But -you- can, baby and I’ll walk you through it, one little step after another.”_

Rhys does every single thing asked of him and then he finally falls asleep, no longer plagued by his nightmares, not tonight at least, and that makes a flicker of pride spark in Jack’s chest. 

-II-

Rhys has grown to accept his fate and the literal devil that has return to perch himself on his shoulder. Some days it's fun, some days it’s not, and some days he just wants to smack Jack on his dumb head. Like today for example. 

He’d do that right away but he’s stuck before a room full of people, a screen behind him displaying the schematics he wanted to discuss and filthy words seeping straight into his ear. The man responsible for his misery is nonchalantly sat at the other end of the spacious meeting room, hiding his shit-eating smirk behind a data pad as his exact if far more ethereal copy happily floats about him and just doesn’t -shut up-.

While his lips are somehow still moving and producing a more or less coherent content, the majority of his attention is devoted to lamenting his anguish and trying to will both Jack and the tightness in his pants away.

Rhys swears his vengeance will come swiftly and justly but will be every ounce as vicious as hot he’s feeling right now.


	3. Bullet Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> would you look at that i finally decide to revisit these two jerks and we are still no closer to the p0rn thing than we were in the beginning wow.

-Rhys-

See the thing about having friends is that you can’t really trust them. Sure you can fool yourself into believing that they have your back, so when an invitation to a wedding pops in his inbox, Rhys pays it little mind, filing away gift buying for some other day, and just forgets the whole thing.

But, you see, your friends will have your back only to go behind it and Rhys can’t remember the last time he felt so betrayed.

It’s a quiet evening, his unwitting flatmate slash best frenemy out and undoubtedly wreaking havoc somewhere and Rhys is mostly grateful that that nondescript somewhere isn’t here so he can appreciate some lazy me time, the soft hum of the TV in the background and a late night snack. A doorbell drags him from his relax zone, already grumpy that someone dared to interrupt his zen, and part curious since he certainly wasn’t expecting any guests this late.

The second he cracks the door open, someone is already forcing their way inside, all business like and demanding, Rhys completely freezing in one spot as his glare meets with a hard slant of two brown eyes. Familiar and nearly identical to his own.

“Is that a way to greet your mother?”

There’s nothing intelligent forming on his lips beside a ‘what are you doing here’ which may not be the most polite thing to say. He says that anyway.

“Am I not allowed to visit my only child?” She used to be nearly as tall as he is but the age took its toll on her, and yet, Rhys still feels like she’s towering over him, an old habit if nothing else. Regardless, there’s that dangerous tilt to her eyebrows and he supposes that his mother has more than one reason to be mad at him. “You haven’t invited me over here -once- in the last -three years-, no calls for at least -two-, not even a goddamned -message-.” Well, she’s right but in his defence, he didn’t want to drag her into the Handsome Jack induced mess of his life. “I only know you haven’t died on this forsaken planet because I’ll occasionally catch some info about you on the news.” There is a finger now jabbing at his chest and while Rhys has no troubles going toe to toe with his adversaries during even the most vicious negotiations, there are people you just do not mess with, his mother being one of them. “And from your best friend, at least he contacts me from time to time, blessed child.”

“Hey… I uh, I have been really busy lately,” it’s a bullshit excuse and they both know it, “but I’m really glad to see you here, even though it’s rather… unexpected.”

He’ll deal with his problems one at a time, first working on making her anger simmer down a little bit and soon enough there are arms coming around him, the embrace returned and all in all, he didn’t lie when he said he was happy to see her.

“Unexpected? You thought I’d miss Yvette’s wedding? Not in a million years! I’m just disappointed that it was Vaughn who forwarded the invitation not you.”

That double crossing viper of a friend, could have at least let -him- know. Because as much as he doesn’t mind a surprise visit, there is very little that could stay hidden from his mother’s sharp eyes and his place currently has ‘jack’ written all over it. It’s not that he’s actively trying to hide anything but… introducing these two will take skill and subtlety, and just thinking about it is giving Rhys a mild headache.

“Sorry about that, so ah… would you be needing help getting a room in a hotel booked for your stay? You know I can get you the best of the best…” He preens at the momentary surge of pride but quickly shrinks under her scrutinizing gaze.

“That won’t be needed, just show me which room I can take,” she’s already turning on her heel to head back towards the doorway to grab her suitcase, “promise I won’t be a bother.” That’s… not the case, the real bother has yet to return back home.

Rhys’ mind dashes a mile per second, all the possible options swirling and tripping over one another. There is no way he’ll let her sleep on the couch and the workroom is way too cramped. And, after all is said and done, it still is his workroom so he needs access to his files and desktop at all times. Which leaves only one bed available. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea if not for some less than decent items strewn across the bedroom, Jack’s courtesy and still there due to Rhys’ laziness. He tries casually inching towards the half shut door.

“Of course you won’t be a bother, you are always a welcomed guest here… let me just… grab a few things so I won’t need to come in in the morning, alright?”

She scales a stack of datapads stuffed in the far off corner of the living room with a disaproving glance and he kicks a stray sock under the couch.

With the door whooshing closed behind him and a click of the lock, a long stranded breath escapes him.

“Jack?” True to their agreement, the hologram cannot activate itself on its own accord unless the original is within certain proximity but a command quickly typed on the holo display of his cybernetics makes a flicker of light bloom before him.

“ _Heya pumpkin! ‘ve been missing my handsome mug?_ ”

“No.” Maybe a little bit. But Rhys is too busy shuffling through the mess and trying to stuff every incriminating piece into the bedside table to pay any real attention to the condescending tut he gets.

“ _Don’t cha worry your pretty head, I’ll be back tomorrow._ ” The hologram is sporting a wide grin and his glowing eyes briefly dart to a bottle of clear liquid in Rhys’ hand. The grin grows impossibly wider. “ _Ohh you -did- miss me! You up for some fun times Rhysie?_ ”

“Not now Jack, listen, I have a favour to ask…”

“ _You clearly do_ …” Lounging comfortably in the air, and with his hands behind his head, Jack drifts closer, eyes squinting as he positively leers.

“Shut up. God, please listen to me this one time…”

“Rhys? What’s taking you so long?” At the sound of a voice cutting in, the hologram bolts towards the door only to flicker out of existence as Rhys reboots the connection with a sigh. When the man is back, appearing by default just before his host’s face, he doesn’t bother saying anything and just bolts again only to be stopped with another forced reboot.

“I’ll be right back with you!” The rooms are fairly soundproof so he has to yell to get his point across but it also thankfully means that the quieter words directed at the hologram remain privy to the two of them.

“Jack…” reboot.

“Stop. I need you to…” reboot.

“Promise you will behave…” reboot.

“Yourself. We are having a guest.” Jack finally gives up and chooses to simply glower at him. Would probably be more menacing if Rhys wasn’t so used to it.

“ _You better start thinking what I’ll be getting out of this pumpkin_.” And with an offended snort Jack disappears. At the very least the man seems to be considering cooperation.

He has to avert another crisis when the insistent woman stumbles in her search for a clean mug, across a gun shoved carelessly into one of the drawers in the kitchen. She’s easily distracted when her son starts droning on about its properties and clear superiority compared to Torgue’s firearms so the question about a rather deficient set of crockery never comes.

Another chance for a furious crawl across the apartment to hide things he’d rather not have her find comes when she decides she has had enough attractions for one day and chooses to retreat to the bathroom.

By the time she emerges in a wave of steam, Rhys is moderately calm, back to sitting sprawled on his armchair and flicking through the channels, patiently waiting for his turn. Whatever composure he still had, escapes him instantly at the sight of two toothbrushes she’s twirling between her fingers, a thoughtful glance shot his way and chased with a mischievous smirk he really doesn’t like.

“So, you gonna tell me or do I have to call Vaughn?”

“Won’t be necessary.” Rhys sucks in a breath, he can be adult about this whole thing. Totally no problems. And as he watches his mother, already dressed for the night, saunter closer to plop herself down on the couch, a part of him thinks he missed that, too wrapped up in his work and babysitting that asshole to find time for ‘missing’ in the first place.

“Don’t tell me Atlas is doing so badly its CEO can’t afford rent by himself anymore.”

“Of course not!” He’s been played and the realization dawns on him a solid couple of seconds after the words leave his mouth.

“Because I can still remember how you had to share a cramped suite with Vaughn and Yvette years ago!” She’s clearly goading him and Rhys tries to hide his face in his hands with a groaned ‘mom’.

“The company is doing just fine if you have to know.” No one gets to disrespect Atlas, mother or not. Rhys eventually gives in and gives the name although, he’s quite aware that Handsome Jack’s reputation while, notorious around borderland planets was mostly glossed over around core systems so it’s a surprise she can even place a face to the name after all this time. Most likely due to hearing his friends poke fun at his little hero worship mixed with puppy love in the old days.

“The news vary in their opinions, some say that after bringing Handsome Jack back Atlas slapped a collar and leash around his neck and turned him into their attack dog. Some say he was the one to orchestrate the fall of Helios and right now is the one pulling the strings here.”

Rhys can only nod as she tries to sort through the contradicting reports, not sure what’s true anymore himself.

“You are making it sound bad.”

“It does sound bad. But I take, pinning ‘fraternization’ and ‘nepotism’ to a company that’s still basically in its infancy would sound only worse, right?”

Yeah, she’s right, another slow nod coming from him.

“So, which one it is, the collar and the leash or the strings?”

“Now you’re making it sound awkward,” a cock of her eyebrow is all it takes for Rhys to know that his mother is doing this on purpose. “Started as the former. Proverbial,” that needs to be stressed with a hard stare he’s trying to shoot her way, “now it’s… partnership I suppose. I have been running Atlas for nearly ten years by now but there is only so far my experience can take it. We’re making a much bigger profit since Jack has become the co-CEO.” So yeah, partnership, an uneasy one, sounds like the best way to describe everything without getting into too many details.

“Don’t give me that crap son, I am not interested in how well the company is doing on the stock market.” It certainly wasn’t his father Rhys took his mouthiness after, that is for sure.

“We are not gossiping!” He’d rather… not, Yvetter has already dragged him through one hundred and one invasive questions and he’s not particularly happy about having a repeat experience.

“We already are!” There is a twinkle of stubbornness to her eyes, one his friends would tell him he also possesses, and as she scoots closer in excitement, Rhys resigns himself to the inevitable. “Handsome, that much I know. What else?”

He hums in agreement because that’s one thing he cannot deny.

“Quite. Asshole too. Both rivaled only by yours truly.” He fans his eyelashes and pops his collar, getting an appreciative smile of a very proud mother in return.

-II-

Curious eyes scale him with calculated precision and Jack responds in kind, right hand now held in a warm embrace. He repeats the name she gives him, rolling it around and chasing it with the most charming smile he can produce. And he can produce quite a wide range of those, starting with sexually charged and ending with disarmingly innocent. He opts for the latter in this situation.

“Jack. Handsome Jack. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” As if he even needed to introduce himself but she takes to that with a light hearted chuckle. A feeling that clearly isn’t shared by the man currently glaring holes in his face but Jack can deal with the grump later. “Can’t help but notice your kid doesn’t bring you up very often. Such a shame.”

“Likewise.” She scoffs and so does Jack, hiding his overly pleased smirk behind the mimicked expression. This is turning to be far more fun that he has expected. Even more so when he picks up on a fairly lenient and strangely sympathetic attitude she seems to be extending towards him but not Rhys.

The mystery is revealed after the dinner they share, Jack’s creation because Rhys has clearly inherited the inaptitude when it came to cooking after the very same woman who adamantly refused to touch anything beside the coffee maker in the kitchen. Both of them have Jack rolling his eyes and he wonders how the two have survived until now. Pre-packed food most likely if Rhys’ love for take out is anything to go by.

He’s putting the dishes away, carelessly shoving all three plates they own into the dishwasher, each piece coming from a different set and proud survivors of one or another argument that had broken out between the two men, when muffled words of protest come from the dining area. Jack doesn’t need to move from his spot, the less tangible version of him trailing after the seething woman currently dragging her complaining son towards the balcony and then snapping the door closed behind them. That doesn’t stop him although Jack does try to stick to the corners in order to avoid being detected.

“Rhys, son of mine, I can live with ‘fraternization’, I don’t give shit about ‘nepotism’ either, you know damn well I stand by your decisions but…” Oh his meatbag buddy is about to be lectured and Jack would never let an opportunity to eavesdrop on that pass.

“So why do you sound as if you disapproved?” It’s rare to hear Rhys sound this meek and he makes a mental note to get the man worked up to a similar state at least once and at least more than once in the bedroom.

“What is the age difference between the two of you?” Short and straight to the point. It looks like she has both of them surprised, with the question itself but also with the expected answer because that’s not an easy thing to calculate and an even harder one to explain.

“I don’t know mom, eight years? Give or take,” So Rhys opts for the most obvious number, subconsciously walking himself into a trap the edges of which Jack is only beginning to notice. “It’s… complicated, I’d rather not talk about it,” he can’t help the nasty smirk curling his lips as the oblivious man digs his own grave.

The notion that he has been running Hyperion for quite some time by the time her son finished his internship and starting working on Helios seems to completely escape the stubborn woman, hung mostly on Jack’s young looks and the misinterpreted number. She casts a single, sad look towards the kitchen and the object of her apparent worry.

“You do realize the media will rip you apart, -if- I don’t do that first, if they catch a wind of your sugar baby?”

“What?” Rhys looks like he’s having a heart attack and Jack is positively having the time of his life, deciding to finally sweep in and ‘save’ his dumbass.

And by saving he means sending his more physical version sashaying closer to the balcony, an apron belatedly tied around his hips and the most innocent, bright eyed look his usually frowny face can manage.

“Hey babe, I’ve done the dishes, what else do you need me to do?” There is that sing song intonation to his voice, not dampened in the least by the icy stare he’s receiving. If looks could kill it would be a race between whose body would have hit the floor first, two nearly identical sets of eyes glaring daggers, the pure brown one at Rhys, the one mixed with yellow, at Jack who’s internally cackling amidst this whole mess.


	4. In vino veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these two dorks, going to kill me one day, can turn the simplest things into a disaster, dang. alas, finally, some porn in bulletporn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i tried to beta it but eeh ehh, i tried

Rhys wouldn’t exactly say he’s jealous since that’s not really what he’s feeling right now but there is a twinge of something nasty in his guts as he fixes his bowtie. From the corner of his eye he can catch Jack’s absolutely delighted expression as he completely surrenders himself to Rhys’ mother’s ministrations, letting her slide the soft fabric of the tie around his neck and then tuck it into a fancy looking knot. It’s hard to tell whether the man dutifully played all the dress up games for the past two days just to spite him, because he genuinely enjoyed all the attention he was receiving or if it was part of his sugar baby ploy. Regardless, she has managed near impossible, talking Jack out of his atrocious suit of choice and making sure he looked presentable. Even his dress shirt has been buttoned up to the collar but that probably was only a matter of time before he started fidgeting with it and eventually loosened it.

“Okay,” Rhys lets out a sigh, one last sweeping look over his reflection in the mirror and he’s ready to go, “play nice both of you, I’ll see you at the reception.”

Pressing a quick peck to his mother cheek, he lets his hand linger for a second on Jack’s shoulder, a light squeeze given to remind him to behave. While Rhys is still rather apprehensive about leaving these two unsupervised, it's more out of fear of losing last shreds of dignity if they start gossiping about him rather than Jack, or his mother for that matter, doing something stupid or dangerous. Or so he hopes.

-II-

Just because he fucking -owns- this goddamn planet, and basically owns the man reading out the marital contract in a trembling voice, Rhys can’t be stopped from looming over the official, peeking over his shoulder to make sure everything's in order. The man knows that he risks losing his life to the moody CEO if he fucks up and that doesn’t serve to soothe his nerves at all, yelping when a pen is snatched from his hand and Rhys leans down to scribble his signature in the witness’ place with more authority than the very man with the actual power to marry two people.

“I’ll need to look into giving myself the rights to do that… like ships’ captains can.” It sucks that he had to drag his ass all the way to the register office. He clasps his hands behind his back and straightens up, watching as Fiona adds her own signature.

“S-sir, it doesn’t work like that…” The official receives a cold stare from the two women sat at the other side of his desk and the man instantly shrinks under their combined gaze.

“Rhys, please, stop making everything about yourself.” He’d probably argue more but it’s not his day and for once, he lets Yvette have last word, only shooting her a smirk across the desk.

One more name written down, a chaste kiss exchanged and the three of them are free to head outside where the rest of the people invited to the first part of the celebrations is waiting. Mostly made of Yvette’s ten thousand twice removed cousins, aunts and uncles but Rhys can also spot a familiar face here and there, Vaughn sticking close to Sasha and August. He’s about to try and reach them when the crowd starts cheering, the newlywed now going for a proper kiss, a small commotion starting when all the singles shuffle forward in anticipation, some more desperate dropping into a crouch, ready to snatch one of the two bouquets that are about to be tossed. No such luck however, even though both women turn around and away from the horde of thirsty solos, they keep them on their toes for a couple more seconds, and then, to Rhys’ horror, facing towards him with borderline sinister smiles and uniformly handing him both bouquets. 

“You’re next, pumpkin.”

Oh hell no, it’s like putting a bright red target over his head and he’s not sure if the crowd will try to murder him for snatching away their prize or if he has just become a prime target for those looking to get married. Especially, married -wealthy-.

Precious seconds trickle by and the crowd inches towards him, hungry stares boring both into him and the flowers clutched in his hands.

“As if…” with his face burning a deep shade of blush, Rhys does the only sensible thing in this situation, taking upon himself to toss the bouquets into the awaiting hands. A larger fight promptly breaks out but he doesn’t have it in him to watch who’s going to emerge victorious, finally able to escape.

-II-

He’s halfway through his second flute of champagne, nerves more or less calmed down and one foot cheerfully tapping along the tune currently playing, when he spots the last guests finally arriving. 

“Wow, that is not something I would have ever expected to see with my own two eyes.” Besides him, Vaughn is trying to discreetly wipe his glasses before taking another look at Jack happily hanging off Rhys’ mother’s arm. 

“Really? Then perhaps you should have let me know she’s coming so this could have been averted. So far it was one disaster chasing another, bro.” So yeah, he’s still a little bit bitter about the whole situation. And yeah, he might be slightly exaggerating. 

“Sorry?” Vaughn doesn’t sound all that apologetic, “thought she’d contact you beforehand. Don’t tell me they both are staying at your place.”

“Yup. Totally are. Worst of all, they hit it off instantly, no bloody idea how it was even possible…” he receives a sympathetic pat to his elbow before Vaughn eagerly waves back when his mother starts making her way towards them with a wave of her own. 

Thankfully, she’s intercepted along the way by the bride, tugged along most probably to meet Fiona. So in the end it’s only Jack who joins them, quickly followed by Sasha, August and the two bots once they spot that the group has started flocking together.

“Alright nerds, the main course has just arrived!” Jack greets the rest of them with a toothy grin, spinning on his heel to present his outfit in full glory and earning a few compliments, some more enthusiastic, some less. “How many did you have, Rhysie?” his attention quickly drifts to the man in question and when Rhys only wiggles two of his fingers as an answer, Jack stops one of the passing waiters, the man freezing in place under the scrutinizing gaze of two mismatched eyes. With a sly smirk he quickly downs two glasses, with barely a breath taken in between and settling the empty flutes on the tray, he grabs the third one and sends the man away.

“Easy there, this ain’t a competition and I’m not dragging your wasted ass back home…” There is a warning tinging Rhys’ words but he should have known better than to give into Jack’s goading. The man shrugs and waves the glass into his general direction, somehow avoiding spilling the champagne. And then...

“Whatever you say… _daddy_ ” Rhys wants to scream. 

“What does that mean? You two are not related by blood…” Everybody is deathly quiet aside from the confused Gortys and he’s not sure he’s ready to explain the full implication of Jack’s words. But he needs to say -something- if he doesn’t want his friends judging him for the rest of his life.

Rhys pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs, knocks back the rest of his drink, sighs again and finally speaks.

“See, my mother, has somehow convinced herself that I’m keeping Jack as my…” the words nearly choke him on the way out “..sugar baby… and I couldn’t get through to either of them.”

“What does that mean?” He’s not off the hook just yet, Gortys’ ever inquisitive nature prompting her to continue the topic even though the rest of the group seems to barely be able to hold back their laughter.

“It means,” at the very least Loader Bot keeps a straight face...eye...well, his metallic voice is level and that’s what counts, “that Handsome Jack is offering Rhys sexual favours and companionship in exchange for accommodation and money.” Or maybe it doesn’t count for much if he’s going to drag Rhys like that.

“Which, if you think about it...does sound like truth.” It’s Sasha who first manages to break out of the silent spell the revelations have over the rest of them and Rhys wishes she hasn’t.

“No, that’s not…”

“He does virtually live at your place...even though you got him an apartment…” Vaughn could have the decency to at least stay on his side.

“And I haven’t once seen Jack pay for anything, you are the one who always whips out the cash…” 

Jack, for his part, is trying to stifle his chuckle into the rim of his flute, eyes sparkling with enough ill-meaning mirth that Rhys wants to bury his face in his hands.

“N-no, it’s not like…”

“And you’ve spent stupid amounts of resources to bring him back,” even August chimes in, his comment making Rhys’ ears feel like they are on fire with the fierce blush threatening to swallow his face whole.

“Why don’t you tell us more about your apparent daddy kink, Rhys?” They are probably the worst friends a man can have, quickly breaking into an argument when the opinions on how much about his sex life they want to know turn out to vary.

Jack chooses that as a good opportunity to sidle closer, one arm wrapping around Rhys’ waist as he leans into him. On every other occasion the contact would be comforting now… it’s not even welcomed.

“Come on pumpkin, tell them, I’ve heard how you address that tiny bot of yours more than once.” So he might have once or twice or maybe a couple more times slipped and used that term to describe himself while working on Dumpy but that wasn’t lined with any innuendo.

“I reserve that for small, cute and helpless things, and you are none of those things…” he’d rather deal with Jack somewhere more private although the group is currently too busy talking over one another to pay any attention to them.

“Awww… what are you saying,” he thinks the weird face Jack is currently making is his rendition of puppy eyes and innocence, not very effective in Rhys’ humble opinion, “ain’t I just that?” Jack is progressively leaning closer until he’s murmuring almost straight into Rhys’ ear, his voice taking on a lower note, “why don’t you treat me like a good boy I am… _daddy_?” While the first half has some...potential, the latter leaves Rhys at the verge of nervous breakdown. 

He needs to cut it right here right now and maybe it’s the alcohol that has loosened his tongue or maybe it’s his innate tendency to let things fly out of his mouth before he thinks them through but his next words, even though they were intended to be hissed, are clearly audible to the group which has just now fallen quiet after having settled their differences.

“I can’t believe I let you eat my ass with that filthy mouth of yours…”

There is a beat of silence and he can feel his face turning an impossibly deeper shade of red, heart pounding in his ears. It starts with a high pitched giggle escaping Vaughn before the rest of them gives up the pretenses of keeping some semblance of control and they all burst out laughing.

“I need more alcohol…” he can only escape with an indignant squeak. 

-II-

Jack finds him sulking on one of the narrow balconies adjacent to the main hall and nursing something stronger to numb the pain of humiliation. 

“Come on pumpkin, get that stick out of your ass, that was just teasing.” Given that there isn’t a bad joke about something else replacing the stick, Jack must be fairly serious, and as close to apologizing as the man can get.

“Thanks, I think I might have lost my best friend, or at the very least, whatever respect he had for me is gone.” Rhys leans on his elbows against the railing, gaze idly drifting over the garden lying just outside of the hotel.

“Don’t think there was much in the first place,” he’s joined, Jack resting his own forearms just next to him, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from the man and chasing away the chill of the night, “I don’t even know why you’re trying to pin that on me, you are pretty good at embarrassing yourself without my help anyway.”

“Asshole.” There is only exasperation to his voice, no real malice and his words are met with a quiet ‘mhm’ hummed. 

Jack scoots closer, then even closer and when that doesn’t spark any reaction, he sighs impatiently before wiggling himself under Rhys’ arm until he’s snugly pressed against his chest with the other man draped over his back. When the man isn’t giving into his obnoxious posturing tendencies, he happens to be quite an agreeable companion these days and without any audience, Jack has no reasons to act up.

The distant sound of more party oriented music swaps to something slower, more sensual and with the proximity of the body pressed into him, Rhys can’t help but to gently give into the sway settling over him. He sets his empty glass on the railing with a quiet clink. That prompts Jack to turn around, hands coming up to rest over Rhys’s hips and he leans into the arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“What is it Rhysie? You wanna dance?” His toothy grin is met with a similar expression, both men now pressed chest to knees.

“I don’t know, can you even dance?” He might have caught Jack bouncing eagerly when the moment took over him, either with over excitement at yet another misdeed or when lost in thoughts, but with his usual restless energy, Rhys wouldn’t put inability to stick to a slower tempo beyond him. Regardless, the best way to get him to do something is to issue a challenge.

“Ouch pumpkin, of course I can! My dance moves are legendary.” A cocked eyebrow has Jack scowling, clearly taking offence to the lack of belief in his skills and so he tugs the other man that fraction closer, breaths intermingling. When he pushes to turn them around, the glass gets accidentally, or, if Rhys knows Jack half as well as he thinks he does, quite on purpose, knocked over and it shatters on the pathway a few feet below the balcony.

Legendary dance moves need to be curbed a little bit when the first thing Jack tries to do is dip him and he nearly smacks Rhys’ head against the railing. Slow, nice and slow, that’s how they should take it in Rhys’ opinion, nothing excessive nothing too extravagant if he doesn’t want to risk a concussion. The solution to that is to keep Jack in a tight grip and steer him about without making the man think he’s being led, a few light grinds against the thigh pressed between Rhys’ distracting enough that he doesn’t protest. 

It feels good when they fall into a steady rhythm, less attention spared towards trying to avoid stepping on one another’s toes and more towards the intimate contact and the heat beginning to build between two bodies. Nothing more than a gentle sway and a few spins but there is something undeniably hot about the way Jack slots into his body and the way his eyes turn slightly unfocused when Rhys’ hand moves to tangle into his hair, Jack’s own hands roaming freely over his flanks.

The subtle rocks of his hips are met with far more eager ones, Jack angling his head to brush their noses together, not once breaking the eye contact and their world narrows down to a single point where green and blue meets brown and yellow, bowing down till their foreheads touch and the breaths ghosting over parted lips sink deeper under the skin than teeths and bites ever could. 

Rhys has a fleeting thought that the music has changed but there is another tune playing just for the two of them, dictated by two chests rising and falling in unison, heels shuffling against the floor and the soft repetitive hum whenever fingers card through Jack’s hair. Hands previously running over his sides trail lower, dipping into his back pockets, another sliver of distance closed when they tug him closer, and when the other man’s tongue darts over his lips, Rhys can nearly feel the damp warmth, itching to chase it but finding odd pleasure in restraining himself, if only so he can watch Jack strain within the confines of his own resolution. There isn’t anything chaste about the way he rolls his hips forward this time but it still verges on too subtle to be anything more than a promise, a rustle of clothes and a clink of belt buckles bumping. 

“Dammit Rhysie,” their tempo might be agonizingly slow but Jack still sounds breathless, “you’ve gotta body that was meant to grind against my dick.”

So much for romance.

“I’m flattered Jack, you’re such a romantic I’m falling head over heels for you.” The flat tone of his voice doesn’t exactly agree with the gaze he’s shooting from under lowered lashes.

“Hey pumpkin, I’m indulging you in one of your wet dreams here, and that about fills my romantic quota for the rest of the year, can’t blame a man for being down to earth.”

“You poor, poor unfortunate soul…” fingers tangled in Jack’s hair tighten to keep his head in place, Rhys’ other hand wrapping around his waist in a tight grip, “...tell me...” while with the first comment he has pulled away slightly, now he’s leaning in again, the tip of his nose nudging Jack’s, a feather light rub given as he inches closer, “...how much you hate indulging in my ‘wet dreams’.”

There is less than a hair of distance between their lips and Jack tries to press forward to close it but a rough tug to the back of his head stops him even before the idea can even fully form in his head, an angry growl escaping him in response to the teasing.

Rhys can almost, almost feel the soft skin against his, a kiss of radiating warmth rolling between them in place of a real kiss. When he speaks again, some of the consonants make his lips curl in just the right way for the gap to disappear but it is fleeting enough to leave only a tingle in its wake.

“Because if you do, I’m not going to torture you.” And with that, Rhys is stepping back, detangling himself from the hands now loosely dropping to Jack’s sides and smirking in response to the blank stare on the other’s face. “I’m a merciful god.”

Pure rage sparkles in Jack’s eyes and the man is already lurching forward, hands fisting into the front of Rhys’ suit, his own fingers wrapping around the other’s wrists to keep them from fully crashing into one another. 

“You little brat…” 

“Now now Jackie, be a good boy,” his face is back to hovering mere inches away from Jack’s and maybe the two narrow slits and teeth peeking from underneath curled lips would have had him covering in fear once but that was in the past and now he knows where to look to correctly gauge Jack’s mood. The flush on the other man’s face, his dilated pupils and the angle of his body, pulled by invisible strings and dragged into Rhys’ orbit, it all tells him that he still can push it further without risking triggering an outright murderous outburst. “Be a good boy and behave yourself when we’re in public, you know, for _daddy_.”

Jack sneers and draws a breath to bite back with whatever offending remark he has tilting at the tip of his tongue but there is a hoot of laughter interrupting their private snapping session.

“Oh hell Rhys, I knew you were a kinky one but I just thought the rest was making fun of you!” Yvette sounds way to cheerful compared to Fiona who has forfeited her veil in favour of the beloved hat and is now trying to hide her face behind it, murmuring something about needing to forever forget this has happened. 

“Please, Yv…” with the last shreds of his dignity stomped by his stupid, stupid mouth, Rhys drapes himself over the other man, the tremor of another bout of near maniacal laughter bubbling between them, and rests his chin against Jack’s shoulder to stare with the most heartbroken expression at his tormentor. 

“Go, get a room you nerds, I don’t want anyone stumbling into you and for the scandal to overshadow -my- wedding.”

“Oh get fucked!” With his face still tucked into the crook of Rhys’ neck, Jack lazily flips the two women off without sparing a single glance towards them.

“The keys to your room are with the porter.” That’s the only thing Fiona manages to say, intent on avoiding looking in his direction to the best of her abilities before she decides to beat a hasty retreat. 

He has an inkling as to where they are going and once he’s sure only Yvette’s eyes are on him, he spreads his index and middle finger in a V and sticks his tongue through it. Yvette, equally wordlessly replies with an O formed between her thumb and first finger, the same finger of her other hand easily sliding through the opening. 

There are thumbs up exchanged, an old system of not so subtle sign language they have developed back in their more… adventurous days. 

“What are you doing there behind my back pumpkin?” Jack’s voice is still tinged with harsher tones, and he gives a displeased squint in response to a crooked smile he receives once Rhys takes a step back and meets his eyes.

“Just wishing the newlywed goodnight.” Jack doesn’t look entirely convinced, arms coming up to cross over his chest.

“Is it going to be a good night for me too?” 

“Well, that depends, you gonna go grab that key or not?”

-II-

Jack catches up to him by the lift and given how quickly he has returned, he either straight up threatened the porter into giving him the keys or snuck behind their back and grabbed it without a word. Rhys doesn’t know for which one he hopes. Neither probably.

Leaning against the wall and crossing both his arms and legs, he puts a distance and a figurative barrier between the two of them, not because he needs to shield himself from Jack but rather to keep his own eagerness at bay. The teasing clearly got to the both of them, the other man rapidly tapping his foot against the floor and the air in the lift is nearly crackling with the charged energy, threatening to break out every second now.

Jack drops the keys. They don’t fit quite well because room 8906 got mistaken for 9068 and they need to scale the stairs leading one floor up. It probably would have taken them less time if not for an impromptu makeout session between the floors. By the time Jack has him pressed against the correct door and blindly fumbling with the lock, Rhys looks like a mess, hair completely ruffled, vest and shirt half undone and bowtie lost somewhere around the staircase. It’s a goddamned miracle and he sings praise to whatever is watching over him when the lock finally clicks and the door gives under their combined weight. He doesn’t fall flat on his ass only because there are strong hands keeping him upright and then shoving until he’s walking backwards, just far enough into the room to shut the door and now it’s Jack’s turn to be pressed against it. Even if he wanted, which he doesn’t, there is no way he could break the fervent kiss keeping them lip locked, not with the way Jack keeps insistently nipping at his lower lip and pushing his tongue in and demanding -more-. 

There is too much alcohol coursing through the veins to coordinate anything more refined, hands clumsily tugging at the expensive material because there also is too much clothes in between them, too many layers and fancy accessories that now are carelessly dropped to the floor. Urgent and nearly feral, a moan escapes Rhys’ lips, accompanied by a hiss brushing over his neck when they finally work their way through an absolutely unacceptable amount of buttons, an ounce of forethought spared towards the inevitable return to the party downstairs later. Neither bothers shucking their respective shirts or vests down, letting them loosely hang around their shoulders, too wrapped up into the feeling of naked skin on skin when they press chest to chest. Rhys has the other man pinned with his mechanical hand over his wrist against the wall but Jack twists his hand in the grip and he lets him go free, more intent on getting things -moving- than fighting for control. He’s not allowed to reclaim his hand as there are fingers tangling with the cybernetic ones and urging him to go back to keeping the hand in his grip, held against the wall. Scoff and hiss as he might, Rhys knows that at the bottom of his heart, Jack has a terrible romantic streak, buried so deep it rarely lets itself be known aside from small gestures like this. 

With only two free hands between them unbuckling their belts and working down the dress pants to have them pool around their ankles isn’t the easiest undertaking, even more when their attention is divided between the task at hand and trying not to knock each other's teeth out with over eagerness but they work well as a team. Rhys popping the button of his pants open as Jack forces the zipper down, an impatient tug given to let the material slide down the length of his legs, the complicated operation repeated when they have to get rid of Jack’s slacks too.

And then, fuck yes, that’s it, hot flesh against hot flesh and a dry drag of skin before what little amount of slick dampness has gathered is smeared with keen grinds. The sensation has him momentarily losing his focus, openmouthed breaths mingling with shameless groans tumbling from Jack’s lips and it’s that type of long awaited gratification that has his knees nearly buckling. The possibility of slowing down, going for a more comfortable place like the large bed invitingly sitting a couple of feet away or rummaging through their belongings to maybe grab something to ease the chafe doesn’t occur to either of them. Beside a less than coherent curse or name mumbled in the tight space between them there are no other attempts at communication, both man chasing the same thing and working together towards a common goal. 

Rhys wraps his flesh fingers over the twin hardness, a generous amount of spit drying up too quickly and tries his best to offer that fraction more of friction, sloppily running his hand up and down and failing to deliver when it turns out he just can’t keep his grip steady enough. Jack isn’t much help either, curling his fingers where they intertwine with Rhys’ and digging the fingertips of his free hand into his hip, the touch bound to leave bruises. Abandoning his unsuccessful attempts, Rhys opts for bracing now both of his hands against the wall, tangling his flesh fingers into the hair at the crown of Jack’s hair, simply because it feels that if he doesn’t hold onto something, he’s going to fall apart. The hand at his hip guides his grinds, met one-for-one with Jack’s, strained huffs escaping him whenever the more sensitive tip grazes against the coarser trail of hair leading down the other’s front. 

Rhys reaches the finish line first, coming with a shuddering gasp, one eagerly swallowed by insistent mouth. Intent on riding his orgasm to the last second, he doesn’t wait for the heaviness to settle in him, the moment he knows he has nothing more to give, and still riding the high that came with soaking in Jack’s restless energy, he lets the gravity drag him down to his knees. While the other man was most probably expecting a brief break or for the contact to at least lessen, there are lips wrapping in a tight ring and quickly sliding to the base, Rhys making the most of his gradually more and more relaxed state. One, two, three dives and a teasing tongue are all it takes for Jack to tip over the edge, his hands now fisted into a messy mop of hair, hips stuttering before a howl he doesn’t bother holding back rings in the sudden stillness. It’s easy, almost calming, to wait for the hardness heavily resting against his tongue to start subsiding, Jack still keeping him in place until the softening flesh slips from his lips. Chances are, the other man is only standing upright because he’s got the support of the wall behind him and two more or less steady hands keeping him pinned and as Rhys moves with a near business like attitude to run his tongue over the sticky spots he has left over Jack’s front, there is a near tortured moan tearing from his slack lips and a hollow thud when a stubborn head drops against the wall. While not overly pleased with the taste, Rhys takes great delight in feeling the taut muscles jump under his touch, willing to suffer a little bit, displeasure mostly dampened by the alcohol and his afterglow, just to finish his task of turning Jack into putty.

Jack is allowed to slide down and rest with his legs carelessly sprawled only once he’s deemed acceptably clean, a soft groan escaping him when his ass meets the cold floor.

They look ridiculous, with slacks and underwear tangled around their ankles, barely undressed and still panting. Doesn’t stop Rhys from squirming closer until he can invade Jack’s personal space, peering into his half lidded eyes, one thumb sweeping over the corner of his mouth, damp with an errant string of saliva. 

“Catch ya downstairs?”

“Mhm.” Jack seems to be still coming down from the whole thing and as they say, strike iron while it’s hot so Rhys brushes even closer, patting the other man on the cheek until he gets a more collected look in return, his hand sliding down to trace along the skin of his neck.

“Don’t make me hear you calling me that stupid nickname again, I can barely tolerate ‘pumpkin’.” He doesn’t even try to make his voice threatening, there is no use anyway.

“You don’t look all that scary with your pants all the way down and dick hanging out...”

“I don’t have to.” That’s all the warning Jack gets before Rhys is scrambling to his feet and begins trying to bring his clothes and hair to some kind of order.

-II-

He’s turning round the corner, a spring to his step and a mint popped into his mouth, sure to have a couple moments of peace before Jack finishes fumbling with his tie and follows him downstairs, when he suddenly bumps into someone.

“Ah… Athena?” He was about to apologize but Rhys still might be holding a little bit of grudge from that time she pretended to turn against him.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you all over the place… damn, you look like a right mess.” She doesn’t wait for any words of protest, already licking over her finger to smooth back a few stray strands hanging over his forehead. Rhys feels… violated in the worst kind of sense.

“What did you want?”

“Aaaand you reek of sex, ew.” Hey! He did his best. “Anyway, there’s someone really wanting to meet you, and you better make a good first impression.” Well, the evening is turning more and more interesting.


	5. Goody two shoes

His steps falter, breath caught in his dry throat and even with Athena’s calming presence at his side the view settles in a tight grip around his heart. Broad shoulders, commanding presence and light caught against silver streaks weaved between longer strands of chestnut hair. 

“You may leave.” And that voice! Rhys knows it by heart, every pitch of it, the way it can tremble around his name and the way it hits higher notes in annoyance, he has known it since the day he has first set his foot on Helios, booming through the speakers and putting the fear of god into everyone. But this right now, it’s different, it’s real in the most intimate sense of the word and it sends an involuntary twitch running down his curled fingers.

“Jack?” Every ounce of his control is designated to keeping any uncertainty out of his voice, the name sounding alien on his tongue despite countless nights he has murmured it into warm skin he knows so well. The man turns around and the first thing that strikes Rhys as odd is the lack of the all too familiar mask, the skin weathered and patched in lines of thin wrinkles curling around an inverted V of a scar running across Jack’s face.

“You are Rhys, right? Atlas’ CEO?” He nearly flinches under the piercing mismatched eyes, eventually opting for straightening his back despite uneasiness crawling just under his skin. Had he not seen Jack’s original face, the man before him would be hard to recognize, clean shaven, in his forties and without the usual hairstyle but Rhys has studied it with near reverence, mapped with the tips of his fingers over and over again. Some of his hesitation must still have shown, glimpses of it shining through the cracks of his hard stare. 

“Don’t… don’t fear me,” Jack, says, the sharp angle of his eyebrows easing into something more friendly, so out of place but clearly worn into how naturally the creases around it disappear that Rhys has to wonder if it isn't the light playing tricks on him, “I’m not Jack.”

Only when green and blue eyes follow the movement of his hand does he realize he has been subconsciously trying to make a grab for the weapon that would usually be safely holstered under his arm.

“Then who are you?” He’s approached, in short, curt strides, one hand, big, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time reaching towards him in an invitation.

“Timothy Lawrence, Handsome Jack’s body double.” Rhys crosses arms over his chest, eyeing with suspicion the offered handshake and chooses to ignore it completely. Just because the guy -isn’t- Jack, doesn’t mean he potentially is any less dangerous.

“What made you resurface again after this many years? Jack’s been up and about for a while so why now?” When the invitation is declined the man, Timothy, takes a few cautious steps back and Rhys moves to lean against a table just to his side, his whole posture still guarded but at the very least he pretends to relax slightly.

“I’m not looking for him, that maniac did -this- to me,” fingers trace over the arch of the scar, prompting a light snort from Rhys.

“How am I not surprised…” his little quip seems to ignite something in the other man, perhaps the thinnest thread of understanding forming between them, something he’d rather shoot down instantly than let it bloom into a confession session. “Quit it. I’m not here to bond over Jack induced scars and traumas. Get to the point.” 

“I suppose there’s plenty other people I could be bonding with over this. The list only growing since you have apparently brought him back.” Timothy snaps and Rhys bares his teeth in a lopsided snarl, tension once again rising. Having clearly deemed Rhys a lost case, the other shakes his head, a calmer expression forcing his features to relax. “I have been told that you are in possession of whatever’s left of Helios’ database. There is something I need that still might be there…”

“That belongs to Atlas now and it’s not for sale.” Whatever the man is looking for, Rhys isn’t willing to give, certainly not for free and most certainly not at all, one eyebrow rising when he gets a dejected look in return, something that is hardly compatible with the sharp angles of Jack’s face.

“I’d like to ask you to reconsider, my contract as a body double has expired a few years ago and I… I would really like to have my face back…” The lower Timothy’s shoulders droop, the more Rhys’ tense, head tilted to one side as he listens to the explanation. He’s quite verse when it comes to reading Jack’s expressions but what he sees flickering over the familiar features is something different yet still so totally transparent he has a fleeting thought of how easy it would be to use it to his advantage. A little dose of manipulation could never hurt, right?

“Should have approached me during my working hours, why sneak to a party tonight?”

“Firstly, I thought talking in a more relaxed situation would make you more… lenient towards my case and secondly…” this time Timothy all but fluffs up, back straight and chin held high, “...as a former vault hunter and Athena’s good friend, I have been officially invited and…”

“Heya pumpkin, where are you at? ‘Ve been looking for …what the fu...” Rhys instantly tunes out whatever Timothy is saying, fingers furiously flying over the holodisplay hovering over the palm of his cybernetic hand. Shutting the hologram down, he paces towards the door, switching the lock on but, he supposes, the damage’s been down, Jack has seen enough.

“Mr. Lawrence, Handsome Jack knows you are here and I give him five minutes to figure out our location. The way I see it, you can go now and try to get in touch with me later,” with how he’s guarding the door with his bulk, the only escape route seems to be the window leading into the courtyard and Rhys mockingly cocks one of his eyebrows when his gaze drifts towards it, “...or, stay. Jack doesn’t like competition but provided he doesn’t shoot you on sight… you might be surprised with what you’ll find.” 

Timothy’s tongue darts nervously over his lips, a glance tossed over his shoulder as he thumbs at an old watch strapped to his wrist.

“I can stand my ground…”

-II-

That goddamned tie, Rhys’ mother made it look so simple and effortless and yet he’s here, struggling and getting the knot plain -wrong-. Eventually settling on a skewed bow, loops sadly dangling over his collarbones, he decides to look for someone who can fix that for him, instantly scrapping Rhys and his love for clip on ties. Regardless, he seeks the man out, sending a tentative inquiry and flickering in a flash of half translucent light in ...an unfamiliar room, security most likely, only to be met with a sight that freezes the blood in his veins. And then that moron cuts the connection, anger instantly turning the cold dread into a fire setting his nerves alight.

It takes him exactly four and a half minute to reach the ground floor, find one of August’s guards discretely positioned around the place and threaten the man into releasing his weapon. The door is locked, a bullet put through the lock making quick work of it and there is a resounding curse on the other side as it apparently nearly grazes whoever was dumb enough to stand too close. Three clipped strides take him inside, the barrel of his weapon trained on… yeah on himself, older but still dangerous and if Jack knows one thing, is to not trust this guy. He likes to think he has things figured out for himself, his code altered over the years, adjusted to suit his current situation, but right there before him, stands the very embodiment of the past he’s trying to escape, the scar arching across the bridge of his nose and over one blinded eye a reminder of every mistake that followed it’s imprinting and lead to his downfall. Jack’s bound to err and fuck things up but he’s not willing to repeat old ones, dead set on making this story his and his alone.

“What in the fuck are -you- doing here!” Not even a question, words hissed around the snarl curling his lips up. The skewed reflection, or the original if you’d like, taps at his wrist and there is a digitized crow of a double ‘the world just got 25% more handsome’ breaking the silence, two digistructed copies, much more alike to him in their appearance, brought to life and pointing their wrist rockets at him.

To his right, Rhys mutters something angry under his breath, sounding about as exasperate as Jack is feeling mad right now.

“Jack, Jack, easy there…” there are hands gently wrapping around his, trying to coax the pistol out of his grip but he’s having none of it, elbowing the other man hard enough that he stumbles back.

“Not now pumpkin, I’m putting that fucker back to the grave he has crawled out of, once and for good.” His eyes briefly dart to meet Rhys’, daring him to continue arguing even though they barely dare to leave the three figures before him. If the man in front of him hasn’t lost his edge with age, the shots will be flying any second now. “I’ll deal with you Rhysie later for that shit you just pulled on me.” Despite the threat colouring his words and the looming promise of violence to come later, he still moves slightly to the side, positioning himself between who he needs to protect and who he needs to kill.

“Jack? You… don’t remember me?” That has his eyebrows knitting in confusion, one more careful glance spared towards the slightly hunched man and the two specters either side of him. He certainly wasn’t anticipating a waver to a voice deceptively sounding like his own, nor to be addressed like that.

“You’ll have to refresh my memory cupcake.” Something akin to hurt briefly flashes across the scarred face and as Jack takes a step closer, there is an echoed click of heels behind him, two hands, one flesh and bone the other hard metal, resting over his shoulders. The slightest press of comforting weight against his back and a distant warmth of breath ghosting over the shell of his ear have him stopping his advances.

“That’s your body double. How come you did not know?”

“I’ve caught traces of the body double program in Helios’ systems, but there was no indication that it has been implemented beyond the initial stage…” Teeth grazing over his lower lip, he watches his… body double? recall his guardians and move towards him with more certainty than any sane person having Jack aiming a gun at them should ever have. The man comes to a stop when the barrel presses into his chest, blue and green eyes studying Jack’s face with curious intent.

“You are not Jack…” A statement, short and to the point, a few words enough to turn the edges of his vision red.

“You can bet your handsome ass I am…” Jack’s index finger reflexively squeezes the trigger. 

An empty click is all he gets, less than a second needed to figure out that Rhys must have hacked into the weapon when he first laid his hands on it, the CEO’s cybernetics compatible with Atlas’ technology. 

That’s enough to have him spinning on his heel, his fist ramming into metal as the other man protectively puts his hands up and ouch, that stings, pain flaring up from his bruised knuckles up to his elbow. Before he gets a chance to take another swing, Rhys fists both of his hands into the front of his vest, a sharp tug given to bring him closer until they are inches apart, angry eyes boring into his.

“Stop acting like a rabid skag.” The nearly growled words have him coiling in on himself, ready and itching for a fight to work some of the frustration and rage out. “Oh for crying out loud…” just as quickly as Rhys’ eyes turned into narrow slits dripping animosity, they ease into a softer expression, harsh lines disappearing when he glances lower, voice returning to its usual low rasp, “gimme that.” 

Once he turns back to face his body double, the man introducing himself once again, Jack is no longer donning the ‘neatly’ tied bow around his neck, Rhys snatching it before he stalks towards the table to rest with one hip propped against it, fumbling with the tie along the way.

“Okay cupcake, now if you please, start from the beginning and tell me why the fuck you’ve been prancing about with that handsome mug of mine and what the fuck you want. If you are holding onto some incriminating shots where you have seven cocks shoved down my throat I’m feeding you your own ass.” To his left, Rhys sighs, one last loop done before he tosses a perfectly tied stretch of silk back to Jack. “And for the record, you’d have to try harder than that, ‘ve been there done that…”


	6. Get your good side

“...it was a suicide mission, the moment I realized that I have finally ditched Jack...you, uh, well,” Timothy falters under his scrutinizing gaze, anxiously playing with his hands as he keeps briefing them on his story. “Athena and Janey helped me escape. I suppose you were too busy to come after me instantly…”

“No wonders you ran away from that psycho.” Rhys snivels haughtily, idly dangling his feet in the air from his perched position atop the table.

“Excuse me?” it doesn’t take much to have Jack dropping into barely contained anger and Rhys has been stepping on his toes whole evening, “watch your words pumpkin, I’m not through with you yet.”

His threat is only met with a half shrug and a ‘whatever you say, Jack’, so much for any respect. Instead, he shifts his attention back to the body double, “you’re basically telling me you did not hold your end of the deal, how can you expect me to hold mine?” Rising words of protest are instantly shot down with a wag of his finger, “uh, uh, can it cupcake, you’ll have to think very hard what you will be willing to give up in exchange for whatever’s left in the database.”

“Wh-what? Really? I don’t have anything...”

“Yup, ain’t nothing in life for free, thought you’d know that by now.” Rhys backs him up, completely disregarding how his words make the other man upset. Throughout their little chat, Timothy has kept shooting confused glances between the two co-CEOs, clearly trying to make heads and tails of their constant bickering but for now, he seems to be ready to drop the subject.

“Now, get lost,” thumb jerkily pointing towards the entrance has his body double scrambling to his feet instantly, ready to flee any moment now, “big boys have some more important matters to discuss.” His words catch Rhys creeping halfway through the room, also intending to flee before Jack can exact his revenge on him. There comes a displeased hiss but Rhys stomps back to his previous spot, waiting with his arms crossed, for the door to limply swing shut.

“Okay Rhysie, the hell was that about? Shutting me down like that? The gun? What is it, were you trying to keep that guy a dirty lil’ secret from your pal Jack?”

“You don’t always have to know -everything-.” Jack would like to beg to differ, who else is supposed to keep tabs on what’s going on if not him? “I did not agree to let you back in my head so you could snoop around.”

“That is exactly what you agreed to, kitten. Has it even occurred to you that the stunt you’ve just pulled was dangerous as fuck?”

“Is that your way of saying you were worried?”

“That’s my way of saying you are fucking dumb Rhysie.” But there is no turning Rhys back once he gets one of his stupid ideas, the man already stalking closer with that moronic soft expression of his. Mismatched eyes peer into Jack’s, hands on his shoulders attempting to rub in soothing circles.

“Come on Jack, you know -I- know, how to handle you.”

“That’s because I let you pumpkin,” a cocked eyebrow in response to his words only makes him snarl, hands subconsciously drifting over Rhys’ chest and up to his throat, “you wouldn’t stand a chance against the… the original for lack of better word, or, if my assumptions are right and they usually are, a guy who has been -trained- to be me.” A gentle, near loving squeeze emphasizes his point.

“Oh? And what makes the difference?” Rhys damn well knows what it is, stepping that fraction closer and letting his head tilt to a side, watching him from under lowered lashes with that infuriating crooked smirk of his.

“Don’t act cocky kiddo, I…” it’s not easy to give voice to his thoughts, something he’s quite certain Rhys has figured out himself by now, and yet left unspoken for the past couple of months, “...Nakayama began my coding early on, there are parts of the algorithm from before things went to shit and those that have been scripted after, and they don’t really want to cooperate. Besides, there are parts that are just plain missing, empty periods where I have no idea what has happened but the repercussions have still been added, most likely to avoid possible information leaks and to keep the personality intact.” Jack finds it easier to talk like this, carefully watching the reactions his words prompt and the grip he has on the other’s throat is reassuring in that particular way of a promise that if he doesn’t like what he sees, it wouldn’t take much to snap the willingly offered neck. “I have altered my lines to fix what clearly was the effects of Nakayama’s skewed perspective and obsession, so I can be my own person but… a surgeon operating on himself, there is only so far I can take it.”

“For all the world cares, -you- are the original, past included, we’ve already killed or subdued whoever might have had any objections. If your body double keeps on spewing bullshit that you are not you we’ll just get all the information we might need out of him and end his misery, how does that sound, handsome?”

“Now you’re finally speaking my language!” Toothy grins are exchanged and hell, Jack likes this dumb kid simply because he knows how to get Jack where he needs to be, a push or prod here and then, gentle manipulation he can appreciate only when emotions aren’t running high.

“For all -I- care however, and knowing the truth, I think I like you for the things you chose to leave behind and for what you’ve become.” 

“As if you even could resist my charming personality.” A quiet snort sounds close to his ear, Rhys briefly draping himself over Jack, one of his multiple ways of getting what he wants, not that Jack is particularly complaining this time.

“So, can we leave arguing for some other day and just go back to the party?” Jack will stop arguing only once this moron stops acting stupid but for now he’s willing to let things slide. 

“Fine but we’re getting absolutely smashed.” Rhys doesn’t object such an excellent suggestion.

-II-

Jack wakes up in unfamiliar settings, blinking blearily until the room swims back into something more coherent. Ah, yeah , the hotel room. It takes him a few moments to lift himself up into a sitting position, gaze idly drifting over what looks like remains of a battlefield. A quick glance down confirms he’s still wearing at least half of his last night’s clothes, the lower half for better or worse. Running his nails over some persistent itch across his chest, he nudges with his toe the body curled at the foot of the bed and a soft groan confirms the man’s identity as Rhys. On closer inspection it turns out that he wasn’t as lucky when it came to keeping his clothes on, signature boxers the only thing that remained, currently slid down to expose half of his ass. Jack doesn’t know how low they are riding on the front because the man seems to be preserving his modesty with the body of his best friend tightly clutched in his arms. For once Jack is glad it’s not his hair that is getting drooled onto, or for that matter, chewed on as there seems to be a lovely, clearly food centric dream playing behind Rhys’ closed eyelids. The buff nerd snuggles into Rhys’ chest, equally underdressed, or overdressed depending on your views, for the occasion, but apparently he doesn’t seem to be the source of the resounding snore filling the room. He tracks it to a trio haphazardly sprawled on a recliner. August? No, the man is quietly breathing through his nose. Sasha? Also negative. That leaves only one suspect. Janey who is sleeping with her head hanging upside down is the one to blame for the ugliest sound to ever grace Jack’s ears. Which leaves the question as to where’s Athena open but he supposes, that’s something better left unanswered. 

A nagging pressure coiled deep inside of him eventually makes Jack crawl out of bed, making a beeline for the adjacent bathroom. He’s slowly piecing together the scrambled memories of the last night. After some coaxing he got everyone to let loose a little bit, backed by no one else but Rhys’ mother, the woman bravely going toe to toe and shot to shot with him. There is a vague memory of the two of them getting awfully chummy as they watched her only child make a fool of himself, even more when he ended up with the newly wed hanging off of each of his arms and daring him to chug down yet another colourful coctail. Fun night, Jack concludes as he unzips his dress slack and with a relieved sigh goes about his business. After that things are a bit fuzzy, another more coherent flash having him remember stumbling back towards the room with someone clinging to his side, or maybe it was him who was doing the clinging, a strong scent of definitely feminine perfumes tickling his nose.  
Jack’s eyes wildly dart towards the room because he definitely didn’t spot anyone who would fit the scant description his mind was supplying there. He almost, almost feels he might be off the hook, but that is until his gaze drifts to a hand limply hanging over the edge of a luxurious bathtub, the bright red polish spurring a rush of jostled memories of those very same, perfectly manicured fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp and making him positively -melt-. A couple of seconds pass before he musters the courage to follow the line of unusually pale forearm to the body attached to it. Jesus christ, here he is, caught with his dick in his hand, unable to stop the steady stream once it has started and staring at a dead body. Wouldn’t be the first time except it hasn’t happened before that the dead body would belong to his partner in crime’s mother. 

Completely dumbfounded, he doesn’t know if he should run or just murder everyone in the room so he wouldn’t need to explain this mess of a situation. 

“Your fly’s down, sonny,” he has it on good account that dead people don’t talk and if they do the solution is more bullets put through their head, so the words need a few moments to sink in. Dead people don’t talk but this one does so his assumptions have to be mutually exclusive, Jack eventually settling on dropping the negation and that ‘dead’ adjective. And -not- dead means good because he doesn’t need to flee or go on a murder spree anymore. With eyes still wide and wild, Jack obediently tucks himself in, unsure when exactly he has even finished emptying his bladder, and zips his slacks back. “And don’t forget to wash your hands!”

What was supposed to be ‘yes ma’am’ comes out more like ‘yes mom’ and Jack refuses to ever acknowledge it as something that has left his own mouth.

It clearly isn’t her first rodeo, a soft grumble as she readjusts her position in a nest of towels and Jack would like to issue a formal letter of gratitude to whatever has been watching over him last night because she’s fully dressed if somewhat ruffled.

Jack is drying his hands on the only available towel when a literal zombie stumbles in, Sasha going straight for the sink to tuck her head under the steady stream of cold water. He opts for taking a seat on the closed toilet, idly watching some colours return to Sasha’s face as he lets his thoughts run. Still somewhat on the fence how he should tackle the situation, Jack thinks it would be easier to make up his mind if he knew for sure he hadn’t committed some atrocious mistake last night but there’s only emptiness in his head and a mysterious smirk on Rhys’ mother’s lips. 

“How come the two of you look so awake this early?”

Sasha's voice is hoarse and laced with pure regret.

“Honey, adults know how to hold their liquor.” Jack only shrugs in response to those words, it’s not exactly like she isn’t right. “Kids these days, right?” That’s clearly aimed at him so he flashes a toothy grin. Yeah, kids these days except he’s not entirely sure he falls into either of the two categories. Somewhere in between probably, experience, even if second handed, and memories of over forty years of debauched lifestyle but with body not fully accustomed to such adventures.

“Please, last night had nothing on the wild parties Eden 5 used to be known for.” Over twenty years ago but still.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s where I met my husband… Rhys’ father,” she clarifies as if it wasn’t obvious, “he was on a shore leave. Good times.” That’s one thing he can agree with.

“I’ve met my first wife there too! Certainly -good- times. Where’s his father? Your kid isn’t particularly talkative when it comes to family related stuff.” Which is a shame because by now Jack has related every dirty detail of his love life to the man. But then again, he suspects he’s the only one Rhys keeps these information from since Sasha doesn’t seem all that surprised by the answer they get.

“Lost the poor sod a couple years ago…” at the very least Jack can scrap ‘cuckolding’ from the ever growing list of sins he’s ...not afraid but definitely apprehensive, he might have committed, not that it’s much of consolation, “he was a military man through and through, married to his job.” There is no remorse to her words so their relationship probably must have been rather detached if not borderline rocky.

“Wait, and you said -you- were married?” Sasha’s interest shifts back to him, a surprised expression painted on her face in wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yup. Twice to be precise. Turned out marriage just isn’t for me.”

“That’s not what you said last night honey…” If that’s not what he said last night then he would very, very much want to know what exactly he said. Or did for that matter. Jack considers going back to his original plan of fleeing or murder, even more so when he spots a familiar, ominous smirk on her lips he has seen playing on Rhys’ more than once. “Anyway, sanctimony of matrimony is overrated however you look at it.”

All he can do is nod, still caught into uncertainty and scrambled memories. Rhys’ mother stretches with a pleased hum, shifting till one of her long legs is slung over the edge of the tub, the high heel hooked around her toes dangling as she idly keeps kicking her foot in the air.

“Aww, Sasha, baby, don’t tell me you are considering tying the knot with your boy August.” Jack always knew Rhys wasn’t a good man but his mother is pure evil, clearly basking in the uneasy atmosphere she has created. He thinks he’d have liked her better if he wasn’t one of the objects of her mockery.

“I am.” Sasha’s nose is angrily pointing towards the ceiling as she crosses both arms over her chest and huffs, “and for the record I am not letting you two bitter souls get in between me and my plans!” With that, she’s marching out of the bathroom, dogged by a cheerful ‘looks like I’ll be visiting Pandora again sooner than I anticipated’.

Jack doesn’t really fancy being left at the evil woman’s mercy, clearing his throat and with one hand shoved into his pocket, he bounces to his feet and offers a helpful hand to haul her up.

“Let’s go and call the room service, the nerds will start waking up any second now, better get them something to shove into their mouths so they don’t begin complaining straight away.”

She places her hand almost daintily in his but her grip is strong and as she stands up, the height difference even more pronounced given she’s still in the tub, a much softer smile he receives settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Jack isn’t sure how exactly he feels about it.

“Yeah, I’m dying for some fruit loops myself.”

_Jesus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i only have silly ideas, if i tried to be serious i would probably just suffocate  
> im seriously hoping for some smut in the next chapter tho, i've been hoping for a while now eeh


	7. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crude jokes and dirty smut, also, hello what's new?

The door lock clicks with an air of finality and all that’s left is to wait for a message that his mother has safely made it back home. Rhys slumps with his back against the door, heavy sigh escaping him. That’s one worry out of his hair. The other worry however, flickers into existence just before him, with a wicked grin and a tilt of half transparent hips.

 _“Finally alone?”_ He only nods, starting towards the bathroom. A hot shower is definitely in order now. _“Mmm tell me Rhysie, what are we going to do about that?”_

 Oh he knows that playful lilt in Jack’s voice very well, not that the intentions hiding behind flirtatious words aren’t shared.

“Oh what we -aren’t- going to do about this…” His wink almost goes unnoticed when he pulls his shirt over his head but Jack easily catches that, shooting a toothy grin in response.

_“Sleep, I hope so.”_

“Yup. Give me some time to get ready and start waking your meatbag up.”

“Already awake!” Enthusiastic if still slightly sleepy shout comes from where he has left the other man asleep, prompting a roll of his eyes. _“You wanna some company?”_ The hologram keeps trailing after him, hovering a few inches above the ground with a persistent shit-eating smirk.

“Not really, it will go over quicker if you just leave me to it,” he does appreciate Jack’s dirty talking him while he prepares himself but Rhys would much rather get to the main course so he purposefully shuts the door closed before the hologram’s face, the tip of his nose clipping through.

-II-

With his forehead resting against the hard metal of his cybernetic arm, pressed chest first to the shower wall and with warm spray of water beating across his bowed back, he lets a soft moan slip his lips as he keeps gently rocking into the fingers working him open.

His mind is blissfully blank, the feeling of increasing stretch and heat beginning to coil lower easily wiping away any worry still clinging to his consciousness. By now he’s sporting a semi-hard on, skin pleasantly warmed all over both from the water and the touches, manifesting in flushed skin. The right curl of his fingers makes also his toes curl, breathing picking up and he’s considering maybe just ditching Jack since he’s doing such a great job all by himself. A low whistle drags him from the mental subspace.

_“Wow kitten, you truly are a sight to behold.”_

“What did I tell you?” Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Rhys at the very least tries to act scornful, which, he’s quite certain, is a failed attempt as his voice doesn’t carry any threat to it.

The hologram is pacing just outside of the shower cabin, producing an impatient huff when Rhys only shifts slightly to give him a better view, two fingers now working in a scissoring motion.

 _“You are taking soooo long.”_ he actually -whines- and there is something akin to a scratching noise just on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Mhm. ‘m having fun here.” Despite being more than able to pass through the glass, Jack chooses to glue his face to the transparent door of the shower cabin, palms splayed against the glass and if he could, he’d probably be drooling, a hungry expression painted on his face. Rhys slides the third finger in, twisting his hand around and setting a slow pace, going in and out, thumb now pressed into the sensitive flesh just above his balls.

 _“Rhysie, please hurry up.”_ Closely followed by a loud ‘fuck’ coming from just outside of the bathroom as he cranes his neck to purposefully stare into the hologram’s eyes and runs his tongue over lower lip. Despite the impatient pacing flesh and blood Jack is doing, he must be enjoying the situation else he would have just barged in.

Fourth finger in, tucked between the other three and pushed up to the third knuckle, and they both go nearly cross-eyed. Rhys isn’t holding back on any shameless sounds slipping his lips, eye contact kept to the best of his abilities. A few more languid thrusts and he deems himself primed and ready.

“I’ll tell you what,” just to tease a little bit more, Rhys switches back to just two fingers spreading him open before they slip completely out, fingertips circling around the sensitive bundle of muscles, occasionally dipping in but no further than just an inch or so, “you hop your ass back to bed pronto and I’ll be right there with you, deal?”

A resounding ‘deal’ and the barely audible sound of bare feet slapping against the floor as someone makes a mad dash towards the workroom are all the incentive he needs.

Done with teasing himself, Rhys grabs the abandoned bottle of lube and roughly dries himself with a towel as he follows in Jack’s footsteps.

He finds the other man haphazardly sprawled on the bed in what passes for Jack’s version of ‘sexy and inviting’, on his back, one leg bent and lazily stroking himself, a condom already wrapped around hard flesh.

“Your ride’s waiting for you princess.”

“I can see that.” The towel ends up carelessly dropped onto the floor, Rhys pushing damp hair back as he crawls onto the bed with a pleased chuckle. A few more dribbles of clear liquid that Jack eagerly spreads, and he straddles the other man, knees splayed either side of Jack’s hips and strong hands digging into the meat of his thighs as he takes the girth in one fluid motion.

Rhys is certainly glad he didn’t choose to go for a solo ride, a different, better kind of stretch and hot feeling of being filled just so, reaches deeper than his fingers and makes him positively purr. Jack drops his head back, mouth hanging open and hips stuttering to meet him halfway as he rolls his up and slightly forward. While it’s less directly focused on rubbing against that one spot that makes sparkles fly through his veins, the sheer bulk of the hard flesh buried inside of him more than makes up for it, and paired with the view he’s getting, it’s enough to prompt a satisfied groan. With the slap of skin meeting skin and laboured breaths mingling Rhys is quite content to ride the other man, muscles not yet tired enough that he’d feel any need to slow down the rapid pace he has picked. Up, tilt and down, grind, the friction is just too delightful, making him lose himself in the heedless pleasure. Whenever Rhys loses some of his seamless rhythm, Jack steps in, holding him half up with a tight grip and thrusting upwards, going for a faster if shallower pace.

There are few things Rhys likes better than having Jack’s eyes appreciatively roam over his body so when he’s back in control, opting for seating his backside down and just angling his hips back and forth for a deep, intimate contact with hard friction, he lets his hands dance over his front. Over the muscles straining with each movement, across his chest to tease at the perked flesh of his nipples and up to the exposed throat, fingernails grazing along the lines of his collarbones. As much as it is a show put for two hungry, mismatched eyes, the touch is also pleasing in and on itself, the light tickle or harder pinch making him reflexively tighten around the other man and forcing a few choice words out of Jack’s lips.

It’s hard to keep the smarmy expression from showing on his face as he watches the other man turn into a complete wreck, buckling underneath him to gain some more leverage and much needed physical stimulation. Jack looks completely entranced by the way slim hips wind in a sinful pulse and since making the first drop down, Rhys hasn’t let them separate once, occasionally edging on fully slipping free but never making good on that threat. From the corner of his half lidded eye, he can just about catch the glimmer of half translucent hands flitting across his body, undoubtedly following the intent gaze still fixed on him, so just to give the ethereal touch some more substance, his own fingertips abandon their current task to trail after the phantom. The double touch drifts lower, over the sharp angle of his hipbones and to Jack’s more tangible hands resting over straining thighs, fingertips bumping before he’s lead further and in between his legs, grazing along the heavy weight of his balls and along the base of his dick but never straying anywhere more concrete, back to teasing the crease between his thighs and groin. It doesn’t take long for Rhys to grow plain impatient with lack of touch where he needs it most, the other man more intent on taking than giving, and after brief consideration, his hands fly to finally wrap tightly around the hard flesh, no more than two tugs given before he’s slapped away.

 _“Not yet kitten, I have plans for you”_ but that’s plain torture, here he is, trying so hard, quit happily bouncing up and down and yet Jack refuses to give him more, the heat bursting through his body outwards from the most intimate point of contact demanding some release before it swallows him whole. It’s his turn for keen whines, Rhys bowing down to place his restless hands on the other’s chest, fingernails briefly scrapping in frustration as he uses the new position to slam his backside down with more force and vigor. The switch in tempo and depth has Jack’s breath hitching in his throat, half choked moans mingling with babbled words of encouragement to just -yesyesyes keep going-. If he’s not allowed to touch or come just yet, Rhys has every intention to make it just as bad for the other man, choosing the right angle to both have the length inside of him rub him in that perfect, stars-behind-closed-eyes way and drive Jack all the way in on every downward slam.

 _“Easy, easy there,”_ even the hologram sounds nearly breathless, wide eyes fixed on the tangled bodies constantly making the hair at the nape of his neck stand _“you don’t want the fun to be over too soon, do you?”_

Rhys isn’t sure, he needs this to last but he also needs to somehow let out some of the tightly clamped pleasure boiling just beneath his skin, a drop of sweat running along his spine and tickling as it goes, muscles wound up so tight they start to cramp and he fears they might snap. Or he’ll snap sooner.

The desperation is shared between the two of them and eventually Jack gives in first, not in the way Rhys was expecting, the man springing forward to reverse their positions. He hisses in disappointment when the contact is broken, leaving him feeling awfully empty and still trembling for more. Thankfully Jack quickly maneuvers him onto his front, fingers hopelessly clutching the edge of the bed, ass hiked high in the air and knees threatening to give out from under the combined weight as heavy warmth sprawls on top of him and the fulfilling sensation of Jack sliding back home rattles through his body. Whatever control Rhys had, it’s gone, louder and completely lewd sounds spilling from his parted lips in response to each forward snap of Jack’s hips.

He’s quite happy to let the other man virtually ram into him, trying to sneak a hand to touch himself again but Jack quickly picks up on his futile attempts and snatches both of his arms, wrists now crossed and held in a tight grip at the small of his back. Cracking one eye open, Rhys can catch the glimmer of the hologram crouched on the floor close to the bed, expression on his face focused and calculated, the feeling of being under such scrutinizing gaze only adding to the mixing sensations.

With his eyes rolling back into his head and toes curling, Rhys’ whole body nearly folds in on itself, trembles now turned more into full, uncontrollable shakes and he’s so close he can nearly taste it at the tip of his tongue, head spinning and mind reeling when he catches himself forgetting to breath and sucks in a deep breath. And then the contact is once again abruptly stopped, frustration tearing a short cry out of his lips and through haze a fleeting thought crosses his mind, that that calculating look he has been getting was calculating this precise moment when he’s tethering on edge but unable to tip over just yet.

A distant sound of latex snapping barely registers through the hum of rushing blood in his ears, not that Rhys particularly cares why the other suddenly chose to get rid of the clearly offensive condom, all he cares is that Jack is finally forcing himself in again. Another disappointed sound darts from his lips when it turns out that the other has no intentions of pushing anywhere deeper than the first two inches, the shallow rocks of his hips making the ridge of the head barely graze against the stretched ring of muscles, teasing with a memory of more but never giving that oh so desired feeling of fullness. He can hear and feel Jack stroking himself into completion, short, clipped huffs of breath sounding between Rhys’ own annoyed curses and pleads for something that would finally help give way to the pent up heat that feels just too big and insistent to fit inside of his trembling body.

“Jack? What the f…?” The hologram before him is quickly shushing him, soothing words of a promise that it’s going to be worth it, doing little to actually quell the uncertainty and apprehension beginning to bubble inside of him.

A stuttered hiss and a hoarse curse are the only forewarning he gets before there is sticky warmth landing against his feverish skin, some of it making its way inside of him, shallowly enough that the lightest of his squirms instantly forces it to dribble out. He would probably go on an angry rant straight away because, come on, he has just showered, if not for another kind of hot slickness running in a wide stripe from the softer skin of his balls and up to the abused rim of his opening. The insistent tongue dips inside, sliding in without much resistance to lap at the evidences of Jack’s release, cleaning him up with care and dedication. It’s quickly joined by two fingers pushing in, trying to replace the missing sensation of being filled to the brim, angled downwards to purposefully rub exactly where he needs them and easily chasing away any remaining melancholy.

What previously was debauched moans, turns into noises of complete pliantness and breathy gasps. Between the tongue skillfully running over sensitive skin and fingers keeping him open, Rhys finds his own little personal heaven, well fucked, body feeling like it is filled with scorching hot molten metal and treated to an absolutely delectable surprise, as much calmed down as he’s still buzzing with need.

Once Jack decides he has done a decent job of cleaning up the mess he’s made, the attempted tongue bath turns into very deliberate and far more urgent brushes, concentrated now strictly along the tender edge between outer layer of skin and the one padding Rhys on the inside. All it takes are a few nearly lazy tugs over the hard flesh heavily hanging between his spread legs, Jack’s free hand deftly working to stroke him and thumb at the leaking tip until he can’t take it anymore, the pleasure tightly coiled finally bursting out and washing over his shaking body in wave after wave with each slide of the other’s hand as Jack keeps on stroking him through it.

-II-

Listlessly splayed on the bed, Rhys basks in the pleasant feeling of his muscles going completely lax, the aftershocks of the orgasm still buzzing between his bones. The warmth of another, sweaty body flopping beside him is quite the welcomed addition, even more when it chooses to keep a respectful distance of at least couple of inches away from him, still close enough to almost call it a cuddle but also far enough that they don’t stick to one another, each enjoying his afterglow in own way. That is until Jack turns his head towards him, because clearly his way of enjoying afterglow is via talking, which wouldn’t be so bad if not for the man’s awful morning breath.

“Damn! Get your stinky face away from me.” Rhys tries to build a barrier between them, pressing a pillow over Jack’s face in a half hearted attempt. That doesn’t seem to do much beside spurring the other man to get handsy, a hiss escaping him when they end up kicking one another.

“You weren’t complaining just a few minutes ago,” he’s feeling just a tad too heavy and satisfied to put any real bite behind his shoves, eventually settling on letting Jack trail a couple of sloppy kisses along the side of his face, “don’t be such a primadonna, you gotta accept me and my ass breath Rhysie.”

A few more disgusted ‘ewws’ and some shuffling later, he has Jack lazily pressed to his back, one arm slung over his waist and the two of them once again huddled under the pile of comforters.

“ ‘ve been thinking ‘bout that body double of mine”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Any smart conclusions pumpkin?”

“Just wondering how much ego one lowly programmer needs to have to hire a body double, equip him in weaponized digistructed versions of himself and on top of that have an ai copy of his personality…” That gets him a bite to his shoulder, not a really mean one, just enough to sting.

“You know what they say about guys with big egos…” he actually -doesn’t- know because nobody says anything about guys with big ego beside maybe calling them narcissists, but yeah, Rhys knows what is being implied here and he’d rather not give into the innuendo.

“Mhm, but that also had me thinking, maybe I should get one myself? Have someone else attend all those stiff intra-company events, run some errands for me, all that jazz, what do you think Jack?”

“Would that also mean the guy would have to substitute for you in more… everyday situations?” ‘Everyday situations’ are emphasised by a fairly light squeeze to his side and Rhys only rolls his eyes, leave it to Jack to make everything about sex.

“What is it? Are you having troubles getting laid when I’m not around?” before the other man can go on a full blown rant, Rhys is already squirming around to once again face him, a crooked smirk curling his lips and maybe he shouldn’t be playing dirty like this but then again, it’s not exactly like Jack’s been playing fair all along either, “orrrr, did you think -we- are exclusive?”

“I don’t exactly see a line of lovers queueing up to get a shot at your pathetic ass.” Jack is nearly snarling by now, clearly riled up, even more when Rhys only tilts one eyebrow in response.

“Oh, pathetic? You are only insulting your own tastes here.” There is something ultimately thrilling in egging Jack on and watching the more possessive element of his personality resurface despite the man’s attempts at keeping it mostly under wraps. He can’t help but want to poke and prod some more, pushing Jack to a less controlled state because he likes him like that best, when stupid jokes and bravado are overcome by angry honesty. “So? What is it Jack? What are we?” It’s not exactly like he needs an answer to that, at least, not a spoken one, said answer usually realized in how Rhys can’t see the world clearly anymore with the other man close by and how Jack fits perfectly into the empty space around him, regardless, there is no harm in giving him a little bit of incentive. The reply comes without a single beat missed, no traces of uncertainty or hesitation.

“A team kiddo, we are a two-men team.”

“I like the sound of that…” a soft, easy laugh curls around his lips and for once, things feel simple, “you are just lucky I have enough naivety left in me to trust you on that again.”

Jack doesn’t even start huffing or hissing, the topic discussed over and over again until there was nothing more to add, instead, choosing to just hum a quiet ‘good to know that’ and let his eyes fall shut, clearly considering going back to sleep.

“And Jack?”

“Mh?”

“Can you please, go brush your teeth now?”


	8. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written in response to a prompt on tumblr, turned longer than expected but it definitely ties nicely what i still have planned for this story ;^)

The incoming call catches Rhys halfway through untying his shoelaces, quietly cursing the ever present Pandoran sand clinging to his combat boots, a quick glance at the pop-up hovering above his open palm confirming the caller’s identity.

_ The handsomest of the Handomes _ \- the ID card, Jack’s courtesy, and a digi-photo just next to it, of the man in question’s sleeping face, eyes rolled back and a flash of whites peeking from underneath half closed eyelids, tongue lolled out out and a string of saliva dribbling down his chin - the peak of Rhys’ photographic skills.

He patches the call through and soon enough Jack materializes his holographic self just beside him.

“There you are kitten! ‘ve been trying to reach you for the whole day! I see you’ve been having fun without me…”

Trudging through crumbling, abandoned Atlas facilities in the middle of nowhere isn’t exactly Rhys definition of fun. After taking of his coat, he makes a beeline for the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards in search of some late night snacks.

“Yeah, the reception must have been bad. But we’ve decided to wait for you with further exploration, there’s some intel you might find interesting and the structure isn’t all that stable right now. I’ve assigned our people to build supports for the complex’ underpinning. Anyway, how has Tantalus been treating you? Or rather, how have  _ you  _ been treating it?”

“Good, good, same as always, full of snobby pricks and corrupted military. Only got into six arguments with the local authorities since morning,” his echo-eye tells him that it’s 11 am Tantalus time and Rhys sighs internally, head poking into the fridge. “They aren’t all that happy that Atlas is trying to reclaim its old territory and during our absence here, - _ no, don’t use that, there’s a fresh bottle of milk on the top shelf, this one is probably already spoiled- _ Dahl has been trying to get their grubby fingers into more pies than they can handle, anyway, that’s nothing Handsome Jack couldn’t handle, right baby?”

“Uh, yeah, right, just try not to aggravate them too much, we’ve already been bumping heads with Dahl for a long time and other companies are just waiting like hyenas to snatch something for themselves amidst this chaos.” With a bowl of Heli-Os, and by god, they should have already changed the name, Rhys makes himself comfortable on his favourite chair. It’s almost as if Jack was here with him, the hologram perched on the couch, that is, if one disregarded the soft glow he gives off.

“Easy peasy pumpkin, we’re just gonna crush them all if they try something funny. Just like I’ve crushed this one guy’s nose yesterday!” The sinister snicker sends something warm spreading through Rhys chest. He’s not exactly willing to admit it, but he has missed Jack’s company, the silence, he originally thought would be a blessing, has quickly started to get on his nerves, more than that asshole ever could. And he’s been gone for only, what, a week by now? Perhaps it’s better to attribute it to the fact that silence usually meant that Jack was up to something particularly no good. “What about you? ’ve been behaving yourself?” Rhys is always behaving himself thank you very much.

“Don’t I always, what, did you think that the second you’re outta the door I’m gonna start whoring myself left and right and then cry until i fall asleep?”

“Second - yes, first one - with those table manners of yours? highly unlikely you’d have any luck,” Jack quirks one of his eyebrows at the heaping spoonful of cereal currently shoved into Rhys mouth. “I however...”

A dramatic pause follows and to be perfectly honest, Rhys doesn’t exactly care what ‘Jack however’, opting for dignified silence as to not give him any incentive.

“I  _ however _ ,” not like Jack even needs to be given incentive, “have spent a night with an absolutely gorgeous lady you know...”

It’s his turn to cock his eyebrow, the look on his face rather sceptical. He knows Jack wants to make him jealous and that’s exactly why he can’t work himself up over his comment.

A few beats of silence pass until Jack figures out his words did not have the desired effect and so he concludes that with an exasperate sigh. When he finally speaks again, the silence only interjected by the scrape of the spoon over bowl’s bottom, Jack’s voice is quieter, distant in a way, “did not know you grew up on Tantalus…”

Oh no. “Oh no, no you didn’t…” why does this keep happening to him. 

“Totally did, actually it was  _ your _ mother that gave me a call once she has heard I was around… nice place you’ve got there pumpkin.” Despite Tantalus being torn apart by various military conflicts, that’s where Rhys grew up and he wouldn’t have changed that for any other place.

“I can’t even begin imagining how badly that went…”

“Well, we had a nice little party, got some wine going and then she whipped out your  _ baby  _ album and lemme tell you, you were the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen! All like…” Jack tries for his best interpretation of younger Rhys, puffing out his cheeks and then squeezing them with his hands, lips sticking out and eyes squinted.

“Oh stop it! I bet you looked even worse as a child! Probably all bones and scrawny knees!”

It has Jack tilting his head slightly, momentarily lost in his thoughts until he follows that with a simple shrug and a cocky smirk, “and here’s where you’re wrong pumpkin, I’ve always looked this handsome, in fact, I have always looked exactly like I do now. Literally. Popped straight outta Namakaya’s coding into this sweet body of mine, so I’m afraid you’ve lost this round.”

Rhys can only groan.

“Wait, would that… hmmm,” Jack thinking this intensely never foretells anything good, it doesn’t now either, “would that make Nakiyada and the team working on my cloned body my rightful parents...which,” oh no number two, “would mean you, Rhysie baby, are the midwife that has delivered me into this world!”

He suddenly remembers why he  _ shouldn’t _ be missing Jack in the first place. Regardless, he chooses to retreat to the bathroom, rolling his eyes when a wolfish whistle follows him.

As he showers, the hologram keeps drifting just outside of the cabin, idly chatting about his favourite topic, ie, crushing their enemies and world domination. Rhys doesn’t half mind the change of subject.

-II-

Their large bed feels awfully empty when he has it all to himself, and so Rhys gathers all of the pillows and comforters, nestling inside of his makeshift pillow fort.

“Hey pumpkin, wanna have some fun?”

He’s not exactly opposed to the idea, curiously watching Jack as he floats down and onto his lap, smirk curling his narrow lips and fingers fumbling with the first few buttons of his shirt, “what’cha have in mind exactly? You know, as much as I genuinely like your body, just seeing you naked ain’t gonna cut it for me”

“I’m wounded, but anyway there still are a few upgrades I haven’t let you in on…” 

Rhys settles down on his back, kicking the pile of blankets off of himself, and lets his fingers dance over his front, more teasing than anything concrete, “oh? ”

“Yeah, just… lemme get to my suite and I’ll show you baby,” why would Jack need to get to his assigned room on Tantalus? 

It becomes obvious a little while later, Rhys’ shorts already tangled around his ankles and his flesh hand lazily working between his legs, when the hologram lifts higher, now floating directly above him and flickers out of existence for a few seconds. Once he’s back, Jack looks a little bit different, his persistent smirk etched onto his lips, hair ruffled and with no traces of his clothes. It looks like he’s lying on his back, mirroring Rhys’ position except the artificial gravitation worked into his code doesn’t pull his hair down as it usually does, but rather up as if he wasn’t upside down but rather resting on his back atop a couple of pillows.

“How ya’ like me now kitten?”

“Damn, Jack, is that a real time feed?”

“Sure is” he sounds absolutely delighted, “designed that specifically for situations such as this, ain’t I clever, right?”

Maybe clever isn’t the right word but he sure is creative when it comes to spicing up their sex life and honestly, Rhys is a little bit impressed, that’s taking phone sex to a completely new level. 

He can see that the other man has already started, the idle up and down motion of his hand and so Rhys doesn’t waste another moment before following in his footsteps.  

“Mmm,” he has to bite down on his lower lip, feeling flush beginning to creep over his cheeks and eyes locked onto Jack’s, “talk to me,” that’s not what anyone would typically say to Handsome Jack if they valued their sanity, the man so in love with the sound of his own voice he virtually never kept his mouth shut.

Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice, eagerly going into great details of what he just wouldn’t do had he been here with Rhys.

“I gotta… figure out how to temporarily digistruct extra bodies for myself, imagine all the possibilities baby,” oh hell yeah, Rhys is doing some quite vivid imagining right now, “not one but two or maybe more Handsomes at the same time, wouldn’t that just be fantastic, you could, mmm,” so apparently is Jack, losing his train of thoughts every now and then whenever his daydreaming took him too far, tongue briefly swiping over his parted lips and the movement of his hand picking up, “totally ride one me and at the same time suck off another one or maybe I would stuff you up so  _ so  _ good…” 

Rhys isn’t lagging much behind the other man, sneaking his cybernetic hand between his legs and teasing deeper, careful just enough not to catch the skin into any of the joints and bucking into the fist working away at hard flesh.

Jack’s filthy words seem to be doing it for both of them and it doesn’t take long before Jack is tossing his head back with a shameless groan, a few more tugs given as he rides his orgasm to the end. Rhys just about hits his peak, body arching and with a moan pushing past his lips when Jack suddenly jolts forward.

“Pumpkin! Damn! Listen, holy hell, baby listen!” in his excitement, he smacks his forehead, “how come I did not think of that before, fuck!” he seems to have rolled off of his bed on Tantalus and the hologram starts almost nervously pacing across the ceiling. Jack’s back to buzzing with his usual restless energy, offhandedly wiping his face since he probably must have slapped some of his release onto his forehead. 

“What, what is it?” Rhys can’t be bothered to feel even half of Jack’s enthusiasm, too busy basking in his afterglow and the pleasant feeling of all of his bones turning liquid.

“You gotta get me that Timbert guy set up for a meeting once I’m back on Pandora. I’ve got  _ the best _ idea!”

Oh no.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont like describing stuff so expect more drawings hurr durr  
> catch ya @ visnomer.tumblr.com where you can also like, maayybee drop some prompts or comment here what you would be interested in seeing? Aside from porn i mean, but yeah, treat it like an open invitation to ask more questions and give prompts :^)


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